The Master's Touch
by Moonlit Sunshine
Summary: A spell Harry uses to ascertain Snape's loyalties goes horribly wrong. Will Snape use his newfound power over Harry to destroy him? Slavery story. Eventual Severitus. Fluff warning. Absolutely no slash.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

A/N: I felt like writing a sweet, fluffy thing about parental, purely platonic love. Emphasis on _platonic_. And _yes_ , it exists.

* * *

 _I think I'd prefer seeing through Voldemort's eyes._

* * *

"Is it my imagination," Ron muttered to Harry as he handed him a ladle in Potions class, "or is Snape even nastier than usual?" Snape snapped at Neville so hard that the nervous boy nearly knocked over his cauldron.

"I'm sure it's just your imagination," Harry whispered back, imitating Snape's most sarcastic tones. Ron grinned, looking down at their cauldron.

"Potter!"

Harry stifled a groan and turned up the force of his glare.

"What," Snape whispered from the front of the class, managing somehow to make himself heard, as usual, "is the rule about whispering in this class?"

" _You're_ whispering, Professor," Harry said, before he could think better of it. An amused snort came from Ron. The whole class took a collective breath as Snape's expression grew darker than his perpetually black robes.

Twenty minutes later, Harry stormed out of the dungeons with Ron and Hermione at his heels. Ron was sympathetically spouting profanities at Snape under his breath. "He had no right," Ron ended, fuming. Harry thoroughly agreed, but refrained from commenting. He was a bit afraid he'd begin shouting, and he didn't need another teacher taking _more_ points from Gryffindor. Even Hermione didn't berate him for losing control with Snape yet again.

"Harry, are you all right?" she said instead, adding hastily, "It was a bit cruel of Professor Snape to allude to Sirius…" She trailed off to glare at Ron, who had spluttered, "A _bit_?"

Harry felt a now-familiar pang at the name, but no more. A memory of himself at Privet Drive arose in his mind. The summer had begun with him almost drowning in grief, but it had gotten better when Dumbledore had had him moved to a secure location. He'd been lonely there, but it had been far better than at Privet Drive.

His friends were looking at him expectantly. "I'm alright, Hermione," he said firmly.

She gave him a searching look. "I think you really are," she said with a maternal smile, making Harry blush. Ron said nothing, but gave him a slap on the back as they arrived at their next class. Harry spent this period pondering whether or not Dumbledore's persuading Snape to let more students into the NEWT class (a historical change, he was told) was a blessing or a curse.

" _Sev?"_

 _Harry sighed in mock exasperation. "Would you mind standardising my name once and for all?" he drawled. "This flitting between alternatives is rather ridiculous."_

 _The messy-haired, green-eyed brat in his arms looked up at him and grinned. "But I_ like _flitting, Severus—hey! Stop that!" He ended in helpless laughter._

 _Harry suppressed a smile as he held the child down and tickled him into submission. He was glad the boy had chosen his mother's nickname for him, of course. But in the innermost recesses of his mind, he had to admit that out of all the boy's names for him, he was rather partial to 'Dad'._

" _Severus!" the boy howled, twisting for all he was worth. The sound of his unrestrained laughter was like music to Harry's ears. His child was happy. The boy really didn't laugh enough. To be fair, he himself almost never laughed. But no child of Lily Evans' should have the world-weary look the boy had recently been sporting._

 _He pushed away that thought quickly as he released his hold on the panting child. The three-foot tall boy sat up and adjusted his spectacles (they'd been knocked askew in his struggle to get free), all the while scowling at Harry. Harry smirked back; inwardly exulting in the grin that was breaking through the child's scowl._

" _That wasn't fair," the boy declared._

" _What have I told you about fairness, my young Gryffindor?" Harry purred. His smirk widened when the boy climbed back into his lap, pouting._

Harry woke up smiling for the first time in years. Sunlight was streaming into his dorm. Ron wasn't up yet, though Neville's bed was empty. He felt rested and energetic.

He suddenly sat up in horror. What kind of dream had he just had? It was almost as if—Harry grimaced at the thought—he'd been seeing through Snape's eyes, instead of Voldemort's.

And the child in his dream had been Harry himself at about four or five years old.

Not liking where his thoughts were leading him, Harry sternly told himself to forget his absurd dream. Then he saw the time. "Wake up, Ron! We're going to be late!"

* * *

Harry exchanged an amused look with Dean. Both were listening in as Hermione rather acerbically berated Ron for shovelling down his own breakfast.

"What's wrong with Malfoy?" Harry asked in an effort to break up his friends' bickering. Ron sent him a grateful glance when Hermione stopped talking at once to look at the Slytherins' table. Something did, indeed, seem to be the matter with Malfoy; he was sitting apart from all his housemates, looking unusually lonely and left out.

"Well, that's something you don't see every day," Ron said.

Hermione lowered her voice. "It seems his family fell out of favour with Voldemort after Lucius Malfoy's capture last term. Malfoy's become a pariah of sorts among the Slytherins."

"About time he got a taste of his own medicine," Ron said.

Harry couldn't care less about Malfoy's standing among his housemates. He was thinking about something else. "What else did I miss while I was shut away in that safe house?" Why, oh, why wasn't he allowed the luxury of newspapers while in hiding, even ones that were rubbish at reporting the truth?

His friends exchanged uneasy glances. "Nothing much to add to everything we talked about on the train yesterday, Harry," Ron answered. "Death Eaters, Lucius Malfoy, Old Minister of Magic, New Minister of Magic. Did I mention the Death Eaters?"

Harry stiffened as he felt the back of his neck prickle. A discreet glance at the front of the Great Hall showed that Snape was looking his way. He quickly looked back down at his breakfast, but the feeling didn't abate. This time he deliberately locked eyes with the potions master, glowering as fiercely as he could.

Immediately, his surroundings disappeared. He had the queerest sensation of falling, as though he had just poked his head into a Pensieve.

 _As if it wasn't enough that he had to endure the Dark Lord's presence on a regular basis, Harry thought, as he looked at the sobbing child on his bed. On his bed. In his bedroom. Whatever had possessed him to offer this level of comfort to the son of the man who had ruined his life?_

 _He turned towards the door of his bathroom and found himself held fast. "Don't go," the child begged. Snivelling. The boy was snivelling. Oh, the delicious irony of applying that particular word to this particular specimen of the Potter family._

 _He nearly snapped at the boy, but held himself back just in time. "I'll be back in a minute, child, I promise." He forced his voice to be gentle and soothing. Occlumency had kept him alive thus far, but this kind of application of his skills was far more satisfying and far less dangerous._

 _By the time he had changed out of his robes and into his nightclothes, the boy had calmed a little, to Harry's relief. He sat on the bed and reached for the boy. "What do you need?" he asked quietly._

" _Hurts," was the only thing the proud boy said in reply, shifting his tiny body a little closer to Harry. The rest he didn't say out loud, but the answer was clear enough to Harry—he knew the child far better now than he had ever wanted to, or even dreamed of._

 _Physical pain was something he had stopped enjoying seeing in another. So he bowed to the child's wishes and pulled him close, putting his arms around him with an ease that alarmed him. "I will continue trying to find a cure for this pain, I promise you," he said._

" _Thanks," the boy whispered, sounding far too touched over so insignificant a gesture._

" _Pain does not reduce you to tears this easily," Harry said after a pause. "What else is upsetting you?"_

 _It was also alarming how quick the boy was to trust him with his burdens. "Sirius," he said, his breaths coming faster. "I'm sorry, Professor, I know you hated him, but he was the closest thing to a family I had left and—" his breath hitched, "and now h-he's gone…"_

 _Harry gritted his teeth. His Occlumency was failing him yet again where this child was considered. He could already feel himself sharing in his grief—over Sirius Black, of all people. Pulling the child still closer, he ran his fingers through his messy hair, and felt a mixture of amazement, triumph and shame as the child slowly relaxed and made a soft noise of contentment._

" _And?" he pressed._

 _The boy's fingers tightened on Harry's shirt, his body stiffening again. "A-and I don't want to be a—a…" He stopped, but once again, had made himself clear without words._

 _The child wanted to leave. His Occlumency shields crumbled and fell. Harry was dimly surprised at the maelstrom of emotions those little words caused. Why had he expected anything else? Of course the boy wanted to leave. It was probably in his blood. He was Lily's son, after all._

Fool _, he addressed himself in the privacy of his mind. He had gotten in far too deep when he wasn't looking._

"Harry?"

"HARRY!"

Harry blinked. He was surrounded by a sea of faces exhibiting various degrees of concern and fear.

"Erm," he said. "I'm fine?"

Everyone seemed to relax a little. "You don't seem very sure, mate," Ron said, trying and failing to smile. He and Hermione herded Harry out of the Hall and away from the staring eyes. Harry looked back at the staff table and saw that Snape was still looking at him. He turned away quickly, but Harry thought he looked rattled.

"Just when I was trying to avoid a reputation as a lunatic," Harry muttered.

"Was it a vision from Voldemort?" Hermione asked.

Harry thought about that for a moment. Could this be from Voldemort? "I don't see how," he said slowly. "My scar didn't burn."

 _Unless he's found a way to enter my mind without the scar._

"Then what was it?"

Harry swallowed. "I don't know." He explained what he'd seen in his dream and his latest vision.

"Snape's doing it!" Ron announced—rather weakly; he had gone slightly green at the images Harry had described. "It has to be!"

" _Ron_ ," Hermione said, exasperated, "he's in the Order and Dumbledore trusts him!"

"Well, how else would Harry be seeing visions of Snape acting like he's his _father_?"

"Dumbledore's been wrong before," Harry said, more bitterly than he'd intended. "Snape was looking at me when I got that weird vision. _And_ it's _his_ eyes I'm seeing through, all of a sudden, instead of Voldemort's!"

"But he can't send you a vision through legilimency," Hermione said, sounding deep in thought. "He can see into your mind, but he can't send you anything. Or at least that's what I've read…" Harry knew she'd be in the library as soon as she could.

"But what's the _point_?" Ron exploded, echoing Harry's thoughts. "Driving Harry bonkers? No offence, mate," he added apologetically.

"If this keeps up and we don't find an answer, I'm going to Dumbledore," Harry said grimly.

"But Harry, don't you see? Snape will be in _more danger_ if Voldemort gets to know about your vision! A supposed Death Eater associating, um, amiably, with Harry Potter!"

"Unless Voldemort ordered him to do it," Ron shot back, hefting his bag. "And why was Snape the one who took Harry to the safe house last summer? Why couldn't it have been someone else?"

"You're just angry he took Harry away and you couldn't spend more than a couple of days with him!"

Harry sighed and tuned them out as they arrived at McGonagall's class. It was all very well to try and guess what it was that Snape had done to him, but what if those images had been real?

 _Oh, not this again,_ he told himself. _Look where that got you last time!_ _Sirius died because you took a false image in your head to be true!_

It did no good. Harry ran the images through his mind over and over again. Was he finally going crazy? Was he so completely pathetic that his mind conjured up images of the only adult who must hate him almost as much as Voldemort, in the light of a loving parent? What kind of sick role reversal was that, anyway?

 _All right. Let's assume I'm not crazy,_ Harry thought, waving his wand threateningly at the fat rabbit he was supposed to be turning into a fluffy cushion. _What's left then?_

 _Sirius._ He had mentioned Sirius in the vision, mentioned him as if he were gone already. It (whatever _it_ was) had to be after The Ministry, then. Snape had seemed to hate him as usual, and then like him too, by turns. Harry suppressed a hysterical giggle. _If_ that _really happened,_ he's _the mental one, not me_.

He remembered the Death Eater whose head had been turned into a baby's at the Department of Mysteries. Maybe Snape had kidnapped, tortured and obliviated Harry in the summer. Maybe Snape was actually Harry's father, not James Potter.

This last thought was so ridiculous that Harry let out an involuntary snort of laughter. It came out much louder than he'd expected.

"Mr Potter, do you find something amusing about your failure to perform today's task?" came McGonagall's voice, sounding very tart.

Harry blushed and began to pay attention to his work.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

NOT SLASH. I repeat, not slash. It's father-son time, even though they're not bound that way yet. Please don't ruin my fun by misconstruing what I write.

* * *

 _"You give nice hugs."_

* * *

 _I must stay out of Snape's way; I must stay out of Snape's—_

"Oof!" Harry crashed into a black pillar with greasy hair.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed in concern.

"Potter," said a familiar silky voice, "five points from Gryffindor for your failure to watch where you're…"

 _Oh, no,_ Harry thought, before being sucked into another time and place.

 _The boy looked guilty and a little terrified as he stood at the door to his quarters. Good. The arrogant little teenaged brat definitely needed a healthy dose of fear if he had the audacity to go traipsing off with his cursed cloak and broom against clear instructions. And all this while he was being hunted by Death Eaters. Harry took a deep breath. He would not shout. He would only invent the most exquisitely uncomfortable punishments for the bane of his existence. Even the Dark Lord didn't cause him this much trouble._

 _Two thin arms wrapped around his torso. "I'm sorry," the boy whispered, his emerald eyes pleading. "You promised."_

 _The boy was carefully watching him, so Harry couldn't show his anger at the manipulation. He pulled the boy closer, noticing his tremors. The child was in pain. And just like that, Harry's anger vanished. He sighed._

" _I'm sorry, Severus," the boy continued. "It's just that I haven't been outside in weeks and I was feeling trapped in here and I wanted to fly. I wasn't trying to disobey, honest." He cringed under Harry's glare._

" _You're grounded." The boy winced again, but said nothing. "And I shall be confiscating your cloak and broom."_

" _Not my broom." He might have enjoyed the boy's desperate begging if it hadn't been for the familiar eyes looking at him with so much anguish. As it was, he wanted to run from those haunting reminders of his greatest mistake and sorrow. "S-Sirius gave me that broom…" The boy looked down as if expecting a reprimand._

 _Harry's heart—long protected against any assault of this kind—twisted. It was fortunate, he thought faintly, that the boy had no idea of the impact those eyes had on him. He brought his lips down to the boy's forehead while cupping the back of his head, and lowered his voice to a dangerous purr. "And you believe that you deserve such consideration after breaking my trust?"_

 _The boy shook his head, but seemed unable to speak. Harry sighed inwardly, wondering when he had gone so soft that he'd become incapable of handing out a well-deserved punishment._

" _If you use the broom without supervision again," Harry murmured, "I promise the least you'll have to worry about is confinement."_

 _The boy looked up. "Supervision?" he asked, already sounding less distressed. Whatever he saw on Harry's face made him relax and give a slow smile. "Thanks." He tucked his head under Harry's chin. Warmth blossomed in Harry's chest at the trusting gesture. It felt like he always did after successfully brewing a complex potion. He smirked in victory._

The scene changed.

 _There was someone trying to open his bedroom door. Harry raised himself on an elbow, still half-asleep. The intruder stumbled in and leant against a wall. When he spoke, his speech was slurred. "Can I sleep with you, Dad?"_

 _Harry came fully awake at once. He sat up. "I am not—"he began, and then stopped. The idiot boy could barely stay on his feet. No wonder, with the amount of firewhiskey he had drunk on the sly. "Go back to your bed," he commanded, barely keeping back a string of invective._

 _The boy's face crumpled. He turned around and just managed to exit the room, his head hung and movements uncoordinated. The overall effect was like that of a puppet with a deranged puppeteer._

 _Harry lasted two minutes before he surrendered and got out of bed, muttering unflattering things about the boy invading his quarters. He entered the boy's room without making a noise, and stood next to his bed. The boy was awake, he could see, but hadn't heard him come in. Harry stood frozen for a moment at the sight of the spread-eagled figure, an irrational panic overtaking him out of the blue._

 _He couldn't do this. He had been too careless, too foolish, and let the boy in too far. How was he supposed to handle losing him now? For that matter, how had he allowed himself to get attached to a child in the middle of a war—the child destined to fight the Dark Lord, no less? He was not so far gone as to think he could keep the boy. The boy may have called him father in a drunken fit, but such a relationship between the two of them was ludicrous and impossible on any number of levels._

 _He couldn't do it—he just couldn't bear yet another loss. Lily was quite enough. He should turn around and walk away, leaving the idiot boy to his drunken nightmares. And withhold hangover potions from him in the morning, for good measure._

 _A hiss left his pursed lips. A sob threatened to follow, and he hurriedly stepped back to leave before that could happen. His hand hit a stack of books on the boy's trunk, and one teetered on the edge. He lunged at it, but it fell to the ground with a thud loud enough to pierce the boy's addled senses._

" _Severus?"_

 _Harry shut his eyes and ground his teeth._

" _A-are you alright?"_

 _Even drunk, the boy was caring enough to drive him insane. Harry cast about for something to say. His feet moved back towards the bed without direct orders from him. "I, uh, had thought—" What was_ wrong _with him? He_ never _stuttered!_

 _The boy's face suddenly turned nauseatingly understanding. "Did you… have a nightmare?"_

 _What? Oh, no. He could not let the boy think he had come to_ him _for_ comfort _. He opened his mouth to spit out a denial. A hand on his arm made him look down in surprise. Even Dumbledore did not dare, or want, to initiate physical contact with the dour Potions Master of the dungeons, and it still startled him when this upstart, skinny teen did so. The boy tugged on his arm. It took a shamefully long time for Harry to understand what the boy wanted. He recoiled._

" _Harry," he said, trying to keep his voice calm and disengage himself from the boy's grasp, "it is not appropriate for me to share your bed, especially when you are in this state—"_

" _Da-ad," the boy pleaded, still tugging on his arm, "please."_

 _Harry gritted his teeth. "I am not James Potter."_

" _Of course not, you're Severus Snape," the boy slurred, and shocked Harry enough that he slid closer when the boy pulled his arm again. The boy rested his chin on Harry's chest in what had to be an uncomfortable position, blinking tiredly up at him. "James Potter died… protecting me, and now you've taken over… the job for Mum." He pulled at Harry again. This time he sat down, moving as though in a dream, and pulled the blankets over them. The boy settled his head on Harry's chest._

" _You give nice hugs, Sev," he said abruptly._

 _Harry had no idea what to say to this, so he simply put his arms around the child._

" _Can I have a Babbling Beverage?" Apparently the boy's moment of pseudo-sobriety was over._

" _Why, don't you think you're babbling enough already?"_

 _The boy_ giggled _. "Not for me, Sev. For you."_

That little _—Harry looked down, furious, and then stopped at the sight of the boy nuzzling into his shoulder like a cat. Amusement overtook him without warning. "You shouldn't tell people beforehand that you're planning to tamper with their food, you know," he murmured. "What an extraordinary grasp of strategy you have, child." The boy hummed sleepily. It sounded as though he was agreeing with Harry, and he laughed involuntarily._

" _You don't talk enough," the boy complained, waking up a little and pouting. "I mean, the Dursleys don't talk to me either, but you're better than them…"_

" _Why,_ thank _you," Harry said sourly._

 _The boy wasn't listening. "And I like to hear you talking. You have a nice voice. Like silk. Or a breeze. It's sssooo sssoft and sooooothing." What_ was _the boy on about? "Even when you're angry, your voice is soft. Why's that, Sev?"_

 _Laughter welled up in his chest again, and he had to fight it down like he hadn't in years. Was the boy's drunken state affecting him, too? "…It scares people more."_

" _That's mean, Sev."_

Yes, Lily, I know _, Harry thought, leaning back and closing his eyes._

"Harry!"

"Come on, Harry, snap out of it!"

He was back in the corridor, Ron and Hermione bending over him. Ron had his hands on Harry's shoulders and was shaking him. Hermione stood next to him looking almost teary with panic. Snape was nowhere to be seen. He twisted away from Ron's grasp and picked up the bag he had dropped, oblivious to his friends' frantic questions. His heart pounded. Snape's quarters. He'd been to _Snape's quarters_ in this vision. He'd been _teenaged_ , not five. He'd mentioned Sirius again. And the _Firebolt_.

"I'm going to Dumbledore," he said out loud. The number of visions was increasing, and that didn't seem reassuring.

"Oh, good!" Hermione said in relief.

Harry wasn't half as pleased. The last time he'd seen Dumbledore, he'd heard the prophecy (which he still hadn't worked up the nerve to tell his friends) and wrecked the man's office. The idea of seeking him out now made him distinctly uncomfortable. However, there was nothing for it but to head towards the corridor below the Headmaster's office. His friends insisted on waiting there for him.

He stopped outside Dumbledore's door and knocked. The door flew open and Snape stepped out, the perpetual sour look on his face. Harry braced himself for another vision, but nothing happened. Snape stepped around Harry and into the revolving staircase. Harry was sure he hadn't imagined the ugly look that had crossed Snape's face when he'd glanced his way. It made him feel relieved. At least something was normal today.

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore greeted him cheerily when he'd stepped inside. Harry wondered how the office could still be this cluttered after the number of things he'd destroyed. "What brings you here this early in the year?"

"I'm having visions again, Professor," Harry blurted without so much as a hello, he was so rattled. Dumbledore didn't seem to mind. "And I'm not seeing through Voldemort's eyes anymore. I'm seeing through… Professor Snape's." It was slightly reassuring that Dumbledore was looking thoughtful instead of disbelieving. Not that he'd thought Dumbledore wouldn't believe him, but still.

"Do you believe it could be Voldemort, still?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry was taken aback. He hadn't expected to be asked for his own opinion. "Could he send me visions without making my scar burn?" he asked, instead of answering directly.

"It is possible, though not very likely." Dumbledore looked old and tired, Harry thought, feeling unsettled. "I had hoped that Voldemort would not dare to enter your mind again, after the ordeal he suffered the last time he tried to do so. These visions, however… Could you tell me the nature of these visions, Harry?"

That was the very question he'd been dreading. "Erm," Harry said. Heat crept up his neck. "In some of them, I'm just a five year old; in others, I'm my real age." Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. Harry hastened to explain. "Yeah, in all of them, I'm seeing myself through Snape's eyes."

" _Professor_ Snape, Harry," Dumbledore corrected. He motioned to Harry to continue.

"Nothing much really happens," Harry said. "Professor Snape acts like he's my father or something. And in the visions, I act like I'm okay pretending that too. If it really is Voldemort, what's he trying to do?" The last bit came out rushed as Harry grew agitated.

"We cannot know, Harry," Dumbledore said, after a long pause. Harry couldn't tell if he was worried or not. "What is more certain is that these visions are unsettling you. I know you will not want to hear this, Harry, but Occlumency would go a long way towards keeping them away."

"Professor," Harry said slowly, "these visions seem to have something to do with Snape. Just now it was after I bumped into him, and before that it was in the Hall, when he was looking at me. And why would I be seeing through _his_ eyes all of a sudden?"

Dumbledore looked tired again. "Harry, we've talked about this before. Severus is not your enemy as far as the war is concerned. I shall leave it to you to decide whether to approach Professor Snape for Occlumency lessons, but I strongly advise you to do so. I will have a word with Severus, as well."

The interview was clearly over, so Harry said goodbye and left, feeling disappointed and dissatisfied. He couldn't help but think that something was being kept from him again.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

A/N: Not slash. Sigh. Can't write platonic fluff in peace these days.

* * *

Harry sat to dinner, keeping his gaze down on his plate and away from the staff table. Hermione had her nose in a thick book, and was muttering to herself like she had been since he'd returned from Dumbledore's office. "We have to find out all we can about spells that cause connections between minds," she'd said. Ron had nodded solemnly and then rolled his eyes at Harry behind her back.

Harry smiled to himself as he watched his best friend eat, for once without Hermione to reprimand him for his manners. They were acting so normal. As though he hadn't just told them about a Prophecy that hung over his head. As if research and eating were the most important things in the world. They had stood by him like they always had.

He was so intent on not looking up that he didn't see it until the Great Hall erupted in whispers and cries. "H-Harry?" Ron said, pointing. Harry followed his gaze and nearly spat out his mouthful of pie.

A shining golden cord pulsed in front of him. It began in his forehead and stretched across the Hall to end in Snape's forehead.

"What on earth…" Hermione said, her eyes wide.

His first absurd thought was that it was beautiful _._ He lifted his hand and tried to touch the thing. His hand passed through it, and he felt nothing. He looked back at Snape. The man was looking furiously at him, which was usual; but he had also gone white, which wasn't. The golden light winked out and disappeared. Harry swallowed the food in his mouth, and looked at Dumbledore.

The headmaster wasn't looking at him. He seemed entirely engrossed in cutting up his roast chicken and oblivious to the commotion in the Hall, but Harry knew he must have seen what had happened.

"The Slytherins don't look very happy," Ron said.

"Do they know something we don't, I wonder," Hermione replied in a low voice.

Harry waited, but after a while, the teachers took their cue from Dumbledore and returned to their breakfasts as though Fred and George had played yet another prank, and it wasn't worth the trouble to react.

The Weasley twins weren't in Hogwarts anymore, though, and Harry knew this was no prank.

* * *

"Enter."

Harry took a deep breath and pushed the door open. In Dumbledore's office, he had rejected this idea completely; but after what had happened at dinner, he thought he'd do worse things to get answers. Snape stood behind his desk as he had during their lessons last year.

"Well, Potter," he said, his lip curling, "I see you have decided to stop wallowing in self-pity."

The blood rushed to Harry's head at once. Any decisions he had made about trying to keep the peace just long enough to get something, anything, out of Snape, were gone with the wind. "What happened today in the Hall?" he asked without preamble.

"If you are here merely to satisfy your curiosity, Potter, you may show yourself out at once." Snape pointed to the door, and Harry saw his chance slipping away.

"Wait! Sir," he added hastily. "I… I'm here for Occlumency lessons."

There was a pause. "And why would I teach a student who has shown neither interest nor sincerity during the past lessons, and further has shown blatant disrespect?"

Harry couldn't help but feel like he was standing next to a volcano. He had felt it in class, and it seemed a lot stronger. Snape's hatred of Harry seemed to have increased over the summer, somehow. Snape's fingers twitched as the silence lengthened, as though he would like to put them around Harry's neck and squeeze. _How long before you actually make an attempt on my life, Snape?_

"Because Dumbledore says so?" Harry finally said, not caring that he sounded rude.

"You astound me, Potter," Snape said, leaning closer. Harry wondered if the reason Snape always put a desk between them was to stop himself from physically attacking Harry. "Not only do you disregard the person the very person you require help from and refuse to apologise for your behaviour, you disrespect your greatest ally as well. Are there truly no limits to your arrogance and stupidity?" Harry resisted the urge to draw his wand, and silently turned to the door. It slammed shut of its own accord. "I have not dismissed you," Snape said.

"Let me out," Harry said through clenched teeth, and then the office swam before his eyes.

 _It took a few moments for the slowly waking child to realise that he was laying half on top of Harry. When he did, he sent Harry a panicked glance. Harry merely raised an eyebrow at him. The boy blushed. "How—what," he said, and then stopped, apparently deeming this a coherent enough question._

" _What an interesting shade of red, Potter," Harry said, referring to the boy's cheeks after he'd explained the events of the previous night. He watched, bemused, as the boy buried his face in Harry's chest._

" _My head," he groaned._

" _The consequences of drinking too much—headache, nausea, thirst and sickness," Harry informed him._

" _Thanks for telling me, Severus," the boy said, still trying to dig his way into Harry's chest and embarrassment seemingly forgotten. "Don't you have potions for this thing?"_

" _I do, and I have a price."_

" _I'll pay you the next time I go to—"_

" _Oh, no, nothing so costly," Harry said, keeping his voice low because he wasn't a complete sadist. Also, he remembered what the boy had said about his voice last night. But the boy seemed to detect something wrong. He looked up warily. "You must simply give me your word that you will lose the first Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match next term."_

 _The boy's face went blank, and then the hurt showed. "Oh," he said. He had gone stiff against Harry. Now he detached himself from Harry's embrace and got out of bed. His shoulders were slumped. Harry watched in hidden disbelief as the boy clumsily made his way out of the room._

 _He flicked his wand. A vial appeared in his hand a few seconds later, and he murmured another spell to send the potion into the boy' stomach. All the while, he thought about how fragile the boy's trust was. He had truly thought Harry would withhold the potion for a Quidditch match's sake. Well, a few weeks ago he might have, but now…_

 _The boy came thundering into the room just as he was getting out of bed. He threw himself at Harry, knocking both of them back onto it. "I'm sorry," he said into Harry's neck. "I'm sorry I thought you'd actually do such a thing."_

" _Harry," he struggled to say, "you are smothering me." The boy laughed, shifted, and then put his nose back in the crook of Harry's neck. Harry let him enjoy that for a few minutes before telling him his punishment for drinking._

The scene shifted _._

 _He found the child jumping on the sofa as though it were a trampoline. "Potter!" he barked. "Stop acting like a five year old!"_

 _The brat only laughed. It was official; he had lost all fear of Harry. "But I_ am _a five year old!" he shouted back._

"Not _in your mind!" Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. He would not physically restrain the brat; that was beneath him. Perhaps sensing the shift in Harry's mood, the brat stopped his infuriating jumping. "Sev?" he called softly. "Are you all right?"_

 _Why did the boy keep asking him that? He wasn't the one who'd recently lost his last connection to his family. He wasn't the one on whose shoulders the burden of the Prophecy rested, whose freedom had been snatched away from him. He took two long strides forward and swept the tiny child into his arms. The brat giggled, and then fearlessly snuggled into him. Harry sighed. He had always scoffed at the tripe people tended to spout about the joys of parenthood; he wasn't supposed to fall prey to the same sentiment!_

" _Daddy," the child whispered to him, and then peeked at Harry to watch his reaction. He usually only called Harry that when he thought Harry wasn't listening. "You look nice when you smile," the boy shyly offered._

 _He hadn't even realised he'd been smiling. When was the last time such a thing had happened? Honestly, sometimes he thought the child was even more bewitching than his mother. The thought made his gut churn with a terror only the Dark Lord could produce._

 _The child was blathering on. "I mean your real, happy smile, not the twisted one you give when you're handing out an awful job for detention. And you shouldn't show your teeth. They're yellow." He stopped, perhaps realising this was not a polite thing to say. "Did you give me a Babbling Beverage?" he asked._

 _Harry smirked. "No." When the child relaxed, he added, "I gave you something worse."_

"Severus _!"_

" _My little non-Slytherin, did you think you could threaten me a prank and get away with it?"_

" _I was drunk when I said that!"_

 _He kissed the child's forehead. That always shut him up. "Calm down," he said. "You had been brooding for a few days, and I had had enough. Clearly, the potion worked well, though I could have done without all the jumping."_

 _But the brat had already moved on. "Do you think you'd have liked me better if I'd been in Slytherin?" Harry felt a headache coming on. That was not a question he wanted to answer without his Occlumency at full strength, and_ that _never worked around the child. "Never mind," the child said, taking pity on him. A minute later, he spoke again. "Can I wash your hair?"_

Harry came out of his vision to find Snape leaning heavily against his desk, panting as though he'd run a race. "Professor?" he asked tentatively, trying to quell his own nausea. He wanted to run away from this place, far away from the man before him.

"Get out." It seemed Snape agreed with that sentiment. Which definitely made it a bad idea, Harry decided, standing his ground. "Potter! I said get out."

"No," Harry said, a part of enjoying the chance to openly defy the git. "That won't make it go away. Occlumency will."

Oh, oh. It seemed like Snape's fragile control was slipping. He gripped the edges of his desk as if to prevent himself from leaping at Harry. "Potter," he whispered, "you have ten seconds to leave the room or I will remove you by force."

"I thought Slytherins were supposed to be strategic," Harry said scornfully. "We both know Dumbledore wants me here. I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on, or teach me how to stop it."

That did it. _"You cannot stop it, you thick-headed fool!"_ Snape bellowed. " _Nothing can stop it_ , as far as the Headmaster and I know."

"But he said…"

"Occlumency has very limited effect," Snape said, still panting. He suddenly looked very tired. Harry stared. For some reason, that astounded him even more than his bizarre visions. "And if an Occlumens of my capacity cannot stop it, it is ludicrous to hope that _you_ can."

"But _what is it_?"

Snape's expression became closed. "You will find out soon enough. Now get out, Potter." This time he didn't sound imperious, just weary. Harry stared at the man again, and then slowly walked to the door. He caught a glimpse of Snape just before he shut the door. He was still leaning against the desk, his head bowed as though the burdens of the world rested on his shoulders. Harry made sure to shut the door silently before he fled the dungeons, his heart pounding and yet another question added to the many others buzzing in his mind.

 _Whatever was going on that had Snape so disturbed?_

This question was answered the next morning when Harry saw the _Prophet_ the next day at breakfast. Ron spat out a mouthful of tea when they saw the headlines:

 _ **HOGWARTS PROFESSOR ARRESTED FOR USING DARK ARTS ON THE BOY-WHO-LIVED!**_

There was a _crack_ sound, and Dobby popped up beside Harry. "Headmaster Dumbledore sir wishes to see Harry Potter sir!" he said. "Harry Potter sir must come with me now!"

Harry only had time to say "Okay," and then Dobby grabbed Harry's arm and he had the sensation of being dragged through a tube, only many times worse. They came out in Dumbledore's office.

"Harry, my boy," Dumbledore said, after ushering him to a chair, "I'm afraid the time is long past that you knew the truth about what happened last summer." He lifted his wand. "If I may?"

Harry nodded uncertainly. Dumbledore pointed his wand at Harry. "Can't you tell me what this is about, Professor?" he pleaded.

"We do not have time enough for that, my boy," Dumbledore said, kindly but firmly. "Suffice it to say that your memories of the summer past were removed at your own request, but we must bring them back now in order to save an innocent man from unjust punishment."

Harry's last thought before Dumbledore's spell washed over him was, _Unjust? Hah._

* * *

A/N: _Please_ review!


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

A/N: Not slash, I tell you.

* * *

 **A few months earlier**

 _Harry walked quickly and with purpose. His heart swelled with the anticipation of sweet success. With the information he was about to relay, he would soon become the Dark Lord's most trusted advisor—even more so than the pureblooded Lucius and Bellatrix…_

 _Voldemort stood alone by a window. Harry knelt and waited to be acknowledged._

" _Well, Severus," the Dark Lord said after a few minutes, "what is it?"_

" _My Lord," Harry said, nearly trembling with excitement, "I have uncovered some information of the utmost importance—"_

 _Voldemort waved a hand for the rest of the Death Eaters to leave. Harry suppressed a gleeful smile at their disgruntlement. When the last Death Eater, Bellatrix, had left, glaring suspiciously at Harry, Voldemort motioned to Harry to go on._

" _My Lord, I overheard Sybil Trelawney making a prophecy to Dumbledore." Voldemort went very still, his eyes locked with Harry's. Harry let him see what he was looking for; allowed him access to the memory. "She told him of a child born as the seventh month dies…this child is supposedly meant to…" He trailed off as fury filled the Dark Lord's face. He had understood._

" _You seem to have only part of the prophecy, Severus," Voldemort said._

 _Harry lowered his head. "Forgive me, my Lord," he said, suitably apologetic. "I was discovered and thrown from the building before I could hear the rest." Of course the Dark Lord knew that, he had seen the memory._

" _Hm," Voldemort said, "under the circumstances, it seems we have all the information we need." Harry's heart leapt. "You have done well, Severus, very well indeed. Now all I need to do is find this child…"_

 _Harry let himself smile. The Dark Lord was pleased._

Harry awoke with a start. He looked down at the spell book in his hand. Hermione would kill him if she knew what he'd done—experimented with unknown spells.

In his defense, he had tried it out on himself first before putting anyone else in danger. Ron had not been happy to point his wand at Harry and try out a completely new spell, but Harry had persuaded him. The spell was supposed to give unfettered access to another person's memories…And there was one person Harry desperately needed information on. His only source—Professor Dumbledore—had turned him down.

"You broke into Gringotts to get a book on Mind Magic?" Ron had squeaked. They had talked in the garden, where no one could overhear.

"No, Ron," Harry had sighed in reply. "I got a letter from a rich Heiress who recently died and left me her vault. The letter had a list of items in the vault, and it had this book on it. I decided to take a look. Now this is what we need to do... "

Sirius had died because Harry couldn't trust Severus Snape.

Harry's fists clenched. It seemed Sirius hadn't been the only one to die because of Snape. Harry glanced at the clock on the wall of Ron's bedroom. 2:30 AM. He spent the rest of the night tossing and turning. Even being at the Burrow didn't soothe him as well as it usually did.

It was terribly hard to smile at the Weasleys at breakfast next morning and pretend nothing was wrong, but Harry managed it. Ginny glanced sharply at him more than once, and he was sure he hadn't fooled her that well, but no one else seemed to notice.

"Harry," Ron hissed at him. "We completely forgot about the Restriction on Underage Magic! "

"What was that, Ronald?" Mrs. Weasley said sharply.

"Uh, nothing, Mum. I was just telling Harry about the fuss around Lucius Malfoy's arrest."

"Don't worry," Harry said in a low voice to Ron, when Mrs. Weasley's suspicions had been put to rest, "Magic is already used in this house during the summer, so the Ministry won't know. Or at least that's what Hermione said."

Ron looked reassured, and turned to Fred to discuss the latest Quidditch match.

Then there came a knock at the front door. Mr. Weasley got up, saying, "I'll go see who that is, Molly." The hair on the back Harry's neck rose. He heard Mr. Weasley's surprised voice over the sound of Ron's happy babbling about the Chudley Cannon's latest win.

Snape stepped into the room, followed by a bewildered Mr. Weasley. Everyone stared at the potions master in surprise.

"You!" Harry snarled, springing to his feet. It was all he could do not to cry _murderer._ He glared at the sallow-skinned, hook-nosed teacher, his wand arm twitching. His chest twinged with a sudden pain.

Snape looked back at him coolly, and Harry thought he saw his face tighten. "My apologies for this interruption, Mrs. Weasley," he said, still staring intensely at Harry, who remembered too late that Snape was probably legilimising him, "but the Headmaster has requested to see Mr. Potter as a matter of urgency."

"What?" Ron said loudly. "Why?" Mrs. Weasley shot him a warning glance, but Harry felt a rush of warmth at his friend's attempt to stand up for him. Ron had probably realized something was wrong.

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to reveal that," Snape said, looking at Ron as though he were a particularly repulsive insect.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Harry said firmly.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley gasped. Her husband looked puzzled and concerned too. Harry carefully avoided their worried gazes.

"You already know why, don't you, _Professor_?" Harry was trembling with suppressed rage by now, thinking of the vision he had seen last night, and hoping Snape had seen it in his mind. The odd ache in his chest had intensified and expanded.

This time he was sure Snape's mouth twisted. "Mr. Weasley," he said, addressing Ron's father, "might I beg use of your Floo? It seems I need to call Dumbledore here himself."

"Of course, Severus," Mr. Weasley said, still looking worriedly at Harry. Snape left the room with him, and Harry sat down, trying to avoid everyone's gazes. Something in his face must have stopped them from asking questions. Ron, thankfully, didn't seem to suspect Harry of anything.

Breakfast continued at a much slower pace until they heard the roar of the Floo and Dumbledore stepped into the dining room.

* * *

Two hours later, Harry left Dumbledore's office in a daze. Snape led the way into the dungeons and into his personal quarters. He led Harry to a small bedroom, only slightly bigger than his won at Privet Drive, and said, "Everything you need will be provided in here, Mr Potter. If I find you out of bounds— _Mr_ Potter, I expect you to look me in the eye when I speak to you."

Harry gritted his teeth and glared up at Snape's smirking face.

"I do not need to reacquaint you with the consequences of disobedience, I presume?"

"No, _sir_ ," Harry replied through his teeth. Pain shot through his chest for the fifth time this day. He had collapsed from the pain while in Dumbledore's office.

"Ah," Snape said softly, "I think you'll find that a respectful tone is required, Mr. Potter."

Harry's fists clenched of their own accord. Looking at the smug, satisfied face before him, he realized open rebellion would get him nowhere. He lowered his voice by sheer force of will. "I apologise, sir."

The pain disappeared.

"Very good, Potter," Snape mocked. "I'll make sure you know all the rules you need to know. For now, stay in this room and begin on your holiday assignments."

Once the door closed behind Snape, Harry sank to the floor and buried his head in his hands. One year of physical and mental slavery: his punishment for breaking into Snape's mind.

"The spell you used was a very ancient one," Dumbledore had explained, after berating Harry for using the spell on Snape. Harry had managed not to wreck the room again, but he had shouted quite a bit. "Ancient magic can be extremely unstable. Small details like the intentions of the caster can make a huge difference in the effects of the spell. In this case, you owe your life to Snape from your first Quidditch match, and so the payment for taking those memories will be amplified several times."

Apparently the Bond thought he was being ungrateful to Snape. Harry let out a bitter laugh at that thought.

Dumbledore had been kinder to him than he'd deserved, especially considering Harry had wrecked the man's office not many weeks ago. Harry didn't need Snape to tell him that what he'd done was foolish and dangerous. The problem was, he couldn't see himself acting any differently once he'd gotten the idea of settling Snape's loyalties into his head. Dumbledore had tried to break the news gently, too, using words like _Creditor_ and _Debtor_ instead of _Master_ and _Slave_ , but Harry had understood.

Complete access to the debtor's mind. Control over his will. Complete obedience, or debilitating pain. Complete respect to the Creditor. Hard labour.

His head was throbbing with pain. _I suppose I'd better get started on my homework before the Bond decides I'm being disobedient._ He had just got to his feet when his vision swirled.

This time he found himself in a horror of a memory. He was seeing through Snape's eyes again. He and the Death Eaters were attacking Muggleborns. Voldemort led them, gleefully egging them on and occasionally joining them. Several similar memories followed, and Harry's knees hit the floor with a painful thud. He shut his eyes and cried out. The memories kept pouring in. Just when he began to feel nausea in his gut, the images and accompanying screams stopped.

Harry opened his eyes. He was lying in the stone floor, tears wetting his face. Snape was standing over him. Revulsion welled up in him at the sight of the man, and he let out a moan when the nausea overwhelmed him.

"Yes, that happens when you gain full access to someone's mind," Snape said coldly. "You may find that you don't like a lot of my memories."

"Understatement of the year, you filthy murderer," Harry rasped. He cried out with the pain that came then. Snape hauled him up by the front of his shirt.

"You are about to receive a demonstration in the joys of slavery, Potter." Snape's teeth were bared. "Apologise."

A cloud descended over Harry's mind. _Apologise_ , said a voice in his head that sounded vaguely familiar. Through the haze, Harry realized this was something like the Imperius curse, and tried to fight it. It was no use. His mouth opened against his will, and he heard himself say, as if from a long way off, "I'm sorry, sir."

The cloud lifted, and Harry looked up at Snape, stunned. "Control over the slave's will, Potter," Snape said, sounding very pleased. "I do believe I'm going to enjoy this."

"But I could throw off Imperius!"

Snape smirked. "This is stronger, because it is designed specifically to subjugate your will; the will of the slave. _Legilimens_ ," he added, and Harry stood helplessly as Snape found out which memory he'd seen this time. By the time it was over, Harry was seething with rage again. Snape didn't give him time to speak again, though. "Let me make something very clear, Mr Potter," he said softly. "You may have stolen my memories, but that in no way entitles you to make judgements on my actions or even to speak of what you have seen." He raised an eyebrow, demanding a reply.

"Yes, _sir_ ," Harry said, suddenly feeling too ill to be angry.

"There will be absolutely no personal remarks as long as you are here."

Harry dully replied in the affirmative, wondering if Snape was trying to provoke him. Knowing him, he probably was. The man was now repeating the rules of the Slavery Bond with great glee, pausing after every one so Harry could repeat his refrain. He had a feeling he was going to be saying 'yes, sir' far too many times this year.

One year. One long year. His head spun at the thought.

"Are you in pain?"

Harry nodded once.

"You will address me with respect, Mr Potter."

The pain doubled. "Yes, sir."

"An apology for this second entrance into my mind might ease your suffering, Potter," Snape said, still in his silky voice.

Harry mentally threw up his hands and apologised. "Are you causing this pain? On purpose? Sir?"

"In a manner of speaking. When you refuse to obey my command, the Bond punishes you. Although," he went on, "since you created the Bond, one could make the argument that you are the cause of your own pain."

Harry imagined punching the smiling potions master.

"You will spend the next two hours cleaning this room. Then come to me for your next list of chores."

"But this room's clean—"

A flick of Snape's wand, and the room sprouted a forest of cobwebs and dust bunnies. Harry stared in outraged disbelief. "And you will not use magic, of course. Hand over your wand."

" _What?_ _No!"_ But his hand was already moving to his pocket, and the haze in his mind was making it difficult to think. When his hand had retrieved his and and placed it in Snape's hand, the cloud lifted and Harry collapsed against the wall, panting.

"And finally, Mr Potter." Harry looked up, ashamed to find himself trembling. "You will reveal nothing that happens in the dungeons to the Headmaster. That's an order." The last phrase, Harry would soon learn, meant that Harry couldn't disobey. The Imperius-like spell wouldn't let him. Snape smiled his ugly smile and turned to leave.

"Now that you know I won't tell," Harry forced his voice to remain steady, "can you let me know when you're going to hand me over to Voldemort?"

Snape froze, and slowly turned. In the next moment, Harry found himself backed up against the wall with Snape' fingers clutching his robes. "One," Snape said, "you will not use the Dark Lord's name in my presence. Apologise."

"No." Harry gasped when the pain came, he couldn't help himself.

Snape smiled.

"Stop it!" Harry cried when Snape overrode his will again and forced an apology out of him.

"Secondly," Snape said, ignoring him, "you do not believe I serve the Dark Lord, or you would have fought tooth and nail against this arrangement."

"I couldn't, could I, when I can't even _say_ something you don't like without—"

"Also," Snape interrupted, "you forget I can see your mind, Potter." Harry went very still. "In spite of yourself, you still remember that I saved your life when I was under no obligation to do so."

Harry stared at him. Snape stepped away from him and strode out of the room.

* * *

A/N:

 _Please review!_

I'd also like to thank everyone who read, followed, favourited or reviewed this fic… _especially_ those who reviewed. You people made my day!


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5.**

A/N: No, it isn't slash; why would it be?

* * *

"I hate you, _sir_."

"The feeling is mutual."

* * *

Harry found Snape waiting for him in the living room when he had finished cleaning his filthy room.

"Kneel," was the first thing the man said to him.

Harry stared at him in disbelief. Pain stabbed at his chest, and then the now-familiar sensation of his subdued will washed over his mind. He found himself on his knees, looking up at his smirking master.

"Imitating your Master, are you?" Harry spat.

The smirk disappeared. _Address me as_ Dominus _, Potter,_ a voice spoke in his head.

" _D-Dominus_ ," Harry gasped, fighting helplessly against the blanket over his mind.

"Rise," Snape ordered.

 _Ridiculous._ Harry obeyed.

"We will resume Occlumency lessons," Snape said without preamble.

Harry's jaw dropped again.

Snape made an impatient noise. "Potter, you heard the headmaster. Your asinine stunt has placed my life and my work in jeopardy. You must learn to close your mind to the Dark Lord's."

Harry hadn't thought of that little detail in the confusion that had followed his departure from the Burrow. "But Dumbledore knows our working together is a bad idea!"

An unpleasant smile stretched Snape's lips. "But this time, _I control your will_ , Potter. _Professor_ Dumbledore knows this." He raised an eyebrow at him, and Harry sulkily mumbled an apology, rubbing his twinging chest.

"I see you're getting better at this, Potter. Gets easier after a while, doesn't it?"

Harry glared, then grit his teeth as pain shot through his chest again. "Respect, Potter," Snape whispered. "I realize it's particularly difficult for an arrogant brat such as yourself. You wouldn't see a house-elf glaring, would you?"

Harry bit back several retorts about respecting the murderer of one's parents, and finally settled on, "I am not a house-elf!"

"No," Snape drawled. "Your situation is far more pathetic. Oh, do attempt to rein in your anger, Potter, before you burst a vein. In fact," and here he switched into his lecture-mode, "empty your mind of _all_ emotion." Once again, the strange blanket descended over his mind, but this time, it wiped his mind of emotion.

"It worked!" Harry's lips lifted in a small smile. It felt odd when he'd been so terribly angry moments before.

Snape, by contrast, looked sour. "Indeed. It would seem you are perfectly capable of following instructions; which raises the question as to why you seemed unable to do so last year."

Harry fought not to look away from the black tunnels that were Snape's eyes. "Unable to control my emotions? I'm always angry around you, Professor. I can't help it."

"You will learn. _Legilimens!_ "

The room disappeared and a storm of memories and impressions rushed past Harry's eyes, overwhelming him. He tried fighting it, to no avail. Uncle Vernon. Aunt Petunia. Dudley. Umbridge. Quirrell. Snape. The Mirror of Erised. Dumbledore. _Sirius_. Bellatrix, and then Voldemort at the graveyard. It was worse than watching a single horrifying memory, and much worse than anything Snape had thrown at him in Occlumency last year. For the first time, Harry wondered if Voldemort could do worse things than possessing him. _This_ felt like going mad. Just as his panic rose to a crescendo, the rush of memories and emotion stopped and the room reappeared before his eyes.

Snape was on his knees before Harry, panting, one hand covering his eyes.

"Professor!" Harry automatically moved forward to help. Snape shot to his feet in a sudden, jerky motion, glaring daggers at Harry. "What happened?"

"Another result of your blind idiocy, Potter," Snape snarled. He looked unsteady on his feet. "Our minds are now connected—or rather, yours is open to mine; deep probing apparently lets loose a flood of memories—" He stopped as if he'd said too much.

Harry was still confused. "But you legilimised me a few hours ago, this didn't happen then."

" _Deep probing_ is what caused this; did you not hear what I said?" Snape snapped. "The memory I saw then was at the surface of your mind, of course this didn't happen then." He was regaining his poise as he spoke.

"So…you can't teach me?" Harry said hopefully.

"Hardly. This will not happen a second time; I was merely unprepared. _Legilimens!"_

It was peculiar; on the one hand, there was the onslaught of memories (controlled this time), on the other hand, the blanket still pressed on his mind, and Snape's voice ordered him to fight. Sure enough, he soon managed to throw Snape out of his mind in a few minutes.

"You were not trying hard enough last year," Snape said angrily.

Harry disagreed, but kept quiet.

"Now all we need is for you to repeat this performance without my assistance."

There were no jeers or cruel remarks for the duration of the long, grueling lesson. It seemed Snape was serious about his own life being in danger until Harry mastered Occlumency.

At lunchtime, Snape called the lesson to a halt. Food appeared on the dining table, and Snape took the only chair.

"On the floor, Potter, like a good little slave," he said, flicking his wand. A mattress appeared by his feet.

Harry clenched his fists and obeyed, telling himself it was no worse than the Dursleys. He sounded unconvincing even in his own mind.

* * *

Harry scrubbed away at a stain on the floor of a potions classroom that probably hadn't been used in decades. He's been at this for the last few hours, and the room was beginning to look like a classroom rather than a storage room. His thoughts were in more disorder than the room was.

He had taken stock of his situation as he worked, and had assessed it as grim. This was going to be the worst year of his life, with Sirius gone, the Prophecy hanging over his head, and now being a slave to Severus Snape, of all people. As if forced servitude to the Dursleys hadn't been enough.

Dumbledore either couldn't or wouldn't help. He had promised Harry he would look at the other magical artefacts in the Vault (as Harry had started calling the Heiress' inheritance) and look for a solution, but even Harry could tell the prospect was daunting. Dumbledore probably had a hundred other important things to do. To be fair, Harry had wrecked the man's office, invaded his spy's privacy, put his life at risk, and might have cost the Light a crucial strategic advantage. Dumbledore probably thought he deserved this. Harry wasn't sure that he didn't. He wiped away a tear, suddenly missing Sirius with a fierce ache. Sirius would have understood. He might have disapproved of Harry's actions (then again, maybe not); but he would've understood.

Pain shot up his chest, and he saw that Snape was in the room, watching with an inscrutable look on his face.

" _Dominus_." Harry resentfully muttered the greeting. He was glad he was already on the floor and didn't have to kneel just for Snape. He was gladder he didn't still have tears in his eyes.

"You made two forays into my memories in the last five hours," Snape said, giving Harry permission to get up. Harry caught him glancing almost suspiciously around the room.

It was not a question, but Harry replied, "Yes, sir."

"I will be taking memories from you in payment for the ones you steal from me, Potter."

"What?" Harry spluttered. "Isn't all of _this_ ," he gestured jerkily at everything around them, "enough?"

" _Mr_ Potter, _what_ happened to your hands?"

Harry looked down at the blood and shrugged. "The detergent's strong. I couldn't find the protective gloves."

"Why didn't you come to me?"

Harry only looked back at him incredulously. Snape's face darkened.

"I asked you a question, Mr Potter."

"I… didn't think it was that important, Professor."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Mr Potter, I'll take my first payment now." Before Harry could protest, Snape was in his mind. Harry didn't even try to fight. He watched, half-angry and half-resigned, as Snape dug out the memory that was foremost in his mind right then.

" _Aunt Petunia," little Harry said, "the de-ter-gen's too strong. My hand's bleeding."_

 _His aunt barely looked at him as she pushed him out of the kitchen._

About five memories of Dursley memories later, Snape stopped.

"You'd fit right in with them, you know," Harry informed him matter-of-factly. "They blame me for existing, too."

Snape grabbed Harry's bleeding hand, startling him. "What did I tell you about personal remarks?" He drew his wand.

"Professor?" Harry's eyes widened in fear as Snape pointed the wand at him.

" _Episkey,"_ Snape whispered.

The cuts closed. Harry rubbed his hands experimentally, but his thoughts were elsewhere. 'It's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean,' his father had said about Snape. Harry saw Snape start, but didn't think anything of it, until his surroundings melted away.

 _Oh, great. Snape doesn't even need to cast_ Legilimens _to see into my mind now._ It was the very same memory Harry had been thinking about; the one he had seen in the Pensieve. James Potter was pointing his wand at an upside-down Snape. Harry looked away at once. His eyes lingered on Sirius for a while, but then as Sirius joined his father in defeating Snape, he began to look for his mother.

Red hair and his own eyes. And the only one who stood up against the bullies. Harry cast the tiniest glance back at Sirius, and then slowly followed his mother with his eyes as she left the scene. Loneliness and a sense of loss threatened to engulf him again. Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the older Snape standing to one side, watching his younger self being bullied. Harry wished he could feel angry at this invasion of his mind, but couldn't manage it. Their eyes locked, and then Snape followed Harry's gaze to look at the red-haired girl in the distance.

The scene shifted and he was surrounded by darkness. A scream rang out, and Harry cringed. He really, really didn't want to hear this.

" _No, not Harry, anything but Harry!"_

" _Stand aside, you silly girl!"_

The dying scream that followed drove Snape out of his mind. "What was that?" he asked after a few minutes. The man looked more shaken than Harry had ever seen him. Weren't Death Eaters supposed to be used to this sort of thing?

"My only memory of her before you gave—before I… stole that other one from you." Harry kept his voice flat and emotionless.

Snape wasn't looking him in the eye, for some reason. "It is impossible that you would remember that."

Did he actually _pity_ Harry? _I think I'd prefer open hatred,_ Harry thought, repulsed. "The Dementors dragged it out of me." He looked down uncomfortably, and then blinked at his own hands in astonishment. "You healed me," he said stupidly.

" _Excellent_ observation skills, Potter," Snape returned waspishly. Then he stopped and stared. " _What_ is _that_?" Snape barked, grabbing Harry's hand for the second time. The words _I must not tell lies_ stared up at them from Harry's right hand.

"Um," Harry began, uncomfortable with his proximity to Snape and their bizzare position, "Umbridge made us write lines with these quills during detentions…" He trailed off when Snape's face turned livid. For a moment, he thought Snape was going to hex him for complaining. Then Snape's shoulders slumped, making him look strangely less intimidating.

"To bed, Potter," Snape finally bit out. "Now. Your meal will be delivered to your room."

Harry stared at him for a moment longer. Was Snape angry _on his behalf_ , then? He internally scoffed at the idea and then slowly knelt. "Dominus," he muttered to the floor, feeling absurd. Snape gestured at him to rise, and at another sign from the man, Harry left. He desperately needed a shower.

* * *

The sound of the Floo woke Harry. He almost turned over and went right back to sleep (Snape had, after all, told him not to leave the room on threat of dismemberment), but then he heard the sound of a falling body and a pained groan. He glanced at the clock and nearly groaned himself. This was the second night his sleep had been disturbed.

The door to his room wasn't locked, to his relief. Snape sat on a transfigured chair. But what caught Harry's attention and made his stomach turn was not Snape's exhausted and dishevelled appearance. It was the blood leaking through his clothes onto the floor.

"Er," he said. It sort of alarmed him that Snape hadn't noticed him yet. The man was leaning heavily to one side in a rather boneless posture, his gaze blank and fixed on the opposite wall.

Snape looked up. "What are you doing here?" he demanded angrily, straightening at once.

"You're hurt."

"Back to your room, Potter!" Harry noticed Snape wasn't making the smallest move to get up. _He must be too hurt._ The thought gave him courage.

"I can help, Professor."

"Did you not hear what I said?" Snape's tone was dangerous now.

Harry stood his ground. Something—the memory of Snape healing him just a few hours ago, perhaps—made him want to stay. "You can't even move! Just tell me which potions you need from the cabinet—sir," he added hastily.

"You think I'd trust you anywhere near my potions cabinet?"

"I wouldn't do something like that, not now, not when you're like this! You can legilimise me if you like; I'm telling the truth!"

A long, tense silence followed, and then Snape wordlessly summoned Harry's wand and handed it to him. "You will need it to unlock the wards on the cabinet," he said by way of explanation. This was followed by the password to the cabinet and the list of potions that Snape needed.

"Can you tell me what happened, sir?" Harry asked quietly when he had done as he'd been told. Snape's wounds had stopped bleeding. Or so he claimed; Harry had really no way of knowing. Snape's black robes didn't show blood stains.

Another long pause, and then Snape said, "The Dark Lord was not pleased to know you had been moved and that I apparently did not know where."

Harry stared at him, open-mouthed.

Snape sneered. "Still think I'm going to hand you over, Potter?"

Harry found he had difficulty looking the man in the eyes. "I'm sorry I said that, Professor," he said, trying his best to sound sincere.

Something flickered in Snape's face for a moment and then was gone. "Go to bed, Potter."

It was only after Harry obeyed that he realized Snape hadn't taken Harry's wand again. _Maybe this isn't going to be that terrible after all?_

That night, he saw Snape's memories again. This time they were about one Lily Potter nee Evans.

* * *

A/N:

Thank you, once again, to everyone who read and showed support for this fic. Please review!

marietta: I'll assume your questions weren't rhetorical, shall I? ;) No we don't, all in good time, and yes.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

 _Wipe your mind of emotion,_ Severus told himself as he returned from the Owlery. That was the fundamental principle of Occlumency, and the first he had taught the boy.

It wasn't working for him right now. He yanked open the door to his quarters.

It was quite unfair, really.

He punished the boy by forcibly looking into his memories. And as a result, was reminded again and again that the Harry Potter he thought he knew did not exist. The more he watched, the more he felt for the boy.

He might have laughed at the absurdity of the whole thing if it were not so vexing.

Severus sank into his bed, feeling as if the dungeons had collapsed on him. Harry Potter was not spoiled at home. (He'd grown up in Petunia's home, for Merlin's sake!) And apparently the boy did not approve of his father's actions, either.

He growled and pushed that thought away.

He was surprised there hadn't been any murder attempts, what with the boy now knowing Severus's guilt in the Potters' murder. Then again, the boy was an idealistic fool.

Severus threw himself off the bed and paced the room.

Those green eyes. As though it wasn't enough he had had to put up with them in the school; now they had entered his quarters as well!

"Lily," he murmured.

Rage filled him like one of Longbottom's potions about to explode. He slammed his fist into a wall as his mind tormented him with memory after memory of the original owner of the emerald eyes.

 _Occlumency doesn't seem to work where the Potter brat and his thrice damned Bonding spell are concerned._

Lily in the playground, flying off the swing... Lily at their Sorting... Lily and he working at potions... Lily's laugh... Her red hair on fire in the sunlight.

Abusing her with that awful word when she stood up for him. Joining the Death Eaters in a desperate attempt to gain power... _anything_ to gain her favour.

Overhearing the prophecy. The Dark Lord's interpretation of it, and Severus's own panic that drove him to kneel to another master... Lily's death...Grief in the Headmaster's office.

 _I wonder how long it will take for the brat to access these memories._

Severus sank to the floor with a soft sob. He wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight. He never did, on nights when his past came back to haunt him.

* * *

This time, Harry awoke with tears in his eyes. He lay awake for a while, thinking about all he had seen. The number of memories this time had been almost overwhelming. _I wonder why there where so many this time?_ he thought, and then turned his mind to more important things.

 _Snape had known his mother. Had been a close friend of hers... And at least on his part, more than a friend._

"Ah, Potter," Snape said when he came, bleary-eyed, to the table and knelt. "Your list of chores awaits. You will prepare potions ingredients, scrub cauldrons, and clean the Great Hall and several of the school's corridors…" He trailed off and narrowed his eyes at Harry.

Harry was beginning to wonder why he had ever felt sorry for Snape when he felt the familiar tide of memories rise up in response to Snape's legilimency. He caught a glimpse of the eleven year old (Merlin, that felt weird to think) Snape and Lily in a playground, followed by a grieving Snape in Dumbledore's office, and then Snape pulled out of his mind.

 _"And what will you give me in return, Severus?"_

 _"In— in return?... Anything."_

"I apologise for taking another memory, sir." Harry stood, avoiding Snape's eyes, and suddenly saw it. Amid news of mayhem created by Voldemort and his Death Eaters, the newspaper on the table said,

 _ **CHILD ABUSE AT HOGWARTS! MINISTRY OFFICIAL FACING TRIAL!**_

 _Delores Umbridge, ex-High Inquisitor at Hogwarts, may spend up to ten years in Azkaban—_

Harry's vision blurred with tears. He blinked them away impatiently, grabbed the paper and scanned the article again, forgetting Snape completely. Harry's name had been withheld, 'out of concerns for privacy'.

Snape had done this. Snape had taken action on behalf of Harry, and done it so that Harry's name wasn't splashed all over the papers again. Snape had vowed to protect Harry for Lily's sake. Snape had tormented him for five years. Snape had saved his life. Snape was currently making his life a hell.

"Had I but known it was so easy to reduce you to tears, Potter," Snape drawled, but less smoothly than usual. He was shaken too, Harry thought, just hiding it better. Harry swiped at the tear tracks on his cheeks and silently reached for his plate of food. He could still feel Snape's eyes on him when he went to sit on the readied mattress next to Snape's feet.

Harry spent the rest of the morning in a daze, moving with habitual ease from one chore to the next. Snape had been silent throughout his time in the potions lab, except to direct Harry to his next chore. His complete lack of reaction made Harry feel on edge. He wished Snape would just yell at him for yet another breach of privacy. Why the man didn't just get used to the idea instead of blowing up at him each time, he didn't understand; but then Snape had never before needed a reason to be angry at him.

It was at least a relief to understand why. Snape had hated James Potter because he had bullied him and because he took Lily away from him. He blamed James for trusting Sirius with the Fidelius charm and indirectly being the cause of Lily's death. Snape blamed him for looking like his father (because if that was so, he _must,_ obviously, be like him in all other ways, Harry thought dryly). He probably blamed Harry for being the child of prophecy and getting his mother killed, too.

Anything to get the blame off himself, Harry thought as he glanced at the silent, brooding man. He thought he saw his shoulders twitch, and hastily directed his gaze back at the flobberworms he was chopping.

It was all so unfair.

Longing for Sirius crashed into his consciousness like a flashflood. Tears pricked his eyes again. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried as much as he had this summer. He had a feeling he was going to be doing a lot of that in the coming days. The thought made him feel positively childish.

"Professor, may I write to Ron and Hermione?"

Snape looked up from the potion he was brewing. It was giving off purple fumes that enveloped the potions master and made him look very queer. "Very well, Potter, but I will have to read through the letters."

"What? Why, sir?"

"Use your brain, Potter. They cannot know anything about your situation or your location, and as it is _my_ life as well as yours that is at risk, I would prefer to make sure of your discretion." Harry squinted at Snape; the man sounded tired. The inconsequential little detail seemed monumental to Harry. The Snape he knew was always awhirl with energy, stalking up and down the classroom or the corridors, snarling and generally antagonizing everyone who had the misfortune to cross his path. All except the Slytherins, that is.

"You look terrible, Professor," Harry blurted out without thinking.

"Torture tends to have that effect. And five hundred lines for yet another personal remark, Potter, in addition to the ones you're already doing." Snape was smirking now, and looking less tired too. Maybe antagonizing Harry was energizing.

Harry sighed and returned to work and his own gloomy thoughts.

Writing to Ron and Hermione wouldn't bring any relief. He needed to be able to tell them things. Harry had a sudden vision of the summer and the year ahead stretching before him, suffocating in its dreariness. With Snape as his master. He wondered how on earth they were going to hide this after school started. He opened his mouth to ask.

"Professor, how…?"

"Shut up, Potter."

* * *

" _Will you stop going on about my father!"_

"Would you care to repeat that, Mr. Potter?"

Harry gritted his teeth in what was rapidly becoming a habit. If he had entertained the slightest hope that the shared loss of his mother might change things between them, it was blown to smithereens now. He was on his knees after a particularly grueling bout of Occlumency. He ached all over from doing that morning's chores, and was in no mood to be submissive.

"Have you got trouble hearing, _sir_?" Harry snapped. "I happen to be Lily Evans' son too, and I've never bullied anyone in my life. Which is more than I can say for you—"

He nearly dropped to all fours at the intensity of the pain that hit him.

"My, my, this is convenient indeed," Snape said. "Apologise, Potter."

"Make me."

"With pleasure," Snape purred. "But I confess it would give me greater pleasure to hear you beg."

"I've handled the Cruciatus from Voldemort, you Death Eater," Harry spat, biting back a groan of pain. "And I think I'd rather die than beg. And what _would_ my mother say if I did die, _Professor?_ "

The pain rose to a crescendo, dancing up and down his body. Black washed over Harry's vision and he yielded to oblivion.

Harry woke to find Snape sitting by his bed, reading. "I thought I heard Dumbledore," was the first thing Harry said.

"You must have imagined it, Potter." Snape's face was blank.

Harry narrowed his eyes at him disbelievingly, but Snape's expression did not change. "Hallucinations. Just what I needed," Harry muttered to the ceiling.

"You bring these things upon yourself, Potter." Snape's face was still expressionless, and Harry knew he was being mocked.

"I'm pretty sure _I'm_ not responsible for my parents' death." Harry looked pointedly at Snape, and was satisfied to see his jaw clench. Until the pain returned. This time, a moan escaped him before he could help it.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the back of Snape's fingers gently brushed his cheek. "W-Wha…" he began, and then tried again. "What are you doing?"

"Helping, I deeply regret to say," Snape said matter-of-factly. "The master's touch neutralises pain brought on for punishment."

Harry opened and shut his mouth a few times. Snape cut off what he was going to say.

"And I'm quite certain you're one of the reasons your parents died. Something to do with The Chosen One, I believe," he mocked.

Harry recognized the title from the newspaper he'd glanced at in the morning. "You really do have a talent for deluding yourself, Professor, if you really believe that—ow!"

"Apologise, Potter."

"Never!"

This time Snape overrode his will and forced an apology out of him.

"I hate you," Harry said immediately after the pain had faded. He flinched violently when Snape angrily lifted a hand towards him.

Snape's cold fingers ran over his forehead and the pain faded again. Harry unconsciously leant into the touch, and then blushed when he realized what he'd done. Snape silently sat back in his chair, and Harry stared at him in disbelief.

"Am I _really_ dying?" He had said just a few minutes before that he would rather die than beg; it would be just his luck if that came true.

"What?" Snape looked at him as though he thought Harry had gone mad.

"Well, why else are you being nice to me?" Harry said, narrowing his eyes at the man.

Snape tapped his cheek with his finger. "You barrel your way into my home, interrupting a well-earned holiday, and wonder why I might want some peace and quiet?"

Harry laughed humourlessly. "There's a war going on, and you want peace and quiet? And anyway, that sort of thing never mattered to you before; you've never hesitated to be hateful just 'cause you wanted _peace and quiet._ "

"I do not answer to you, Potter; neither do I care to explain my reasons to you," Snape said coldly, and then added, "I have a proposition for you."

"Yeah? I mean, what's that, sir?"

"You will address me with respect, and in return I will refrain from mentioning your parents. In addition, I will help when the Bond punishes you, instead of taking control of your will."

"You can insult me in any way except mentioning my father, and I always have to be respectful? Sir?"

"Heaven forbid," Snape drawled. "Remember, Potter, _you_ are in _my_ debt because of _your_ asinine actions. I am mitigating the effects of that debt. That is my offer. You will keep your word, or spend all your time under an Imperius-like spell fogging your mind."

"You haven't left me much choice, have you?"

Snape smirked. "The day you get the better of me in a bargain will be the day I offer you my position as Head of Slytherin, Potter."

 _"Ew_ ," Harry said, ignoring Snape's glare. He thought a bit, and finally agreed. "All right, sir."

They sat in silence for a while, Harry wondering all the while why Snape was still here. He suddenly felt quite tired. "Professor?" he said softly. "I'm sorry I broke into your memories. And for looking into your Pensieve last term." He waited for a reply, but there was none. He went on, his voice more nervous than he liked. "I didn't really think that memory would be private; I thought it had something to do with what Dumbledore had been hiding from me all year…And the Department of Mysteries…"He trailed off with a choking feeling in his throat. _Sirius,_ he thought _._ He would _not_ look at Snape.

That was when Harry's left forearm began burning.

* * *

A/N:

Once again, thank you very much—to those who reviewed, read, followed or favorited.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

A/N: 'S not slash, I say.

...Ooh, ten reviews! Thank you!

* * *

"Ouch! What the—?"

"Potter, what is it now?" Snape had nearly dropped his book at Harry's exclamation.

Harry rolled up the sleeve of his left forearm. There was nothing to see. "My arm! It feels like it's…I don't know, burning!"

There was silence. Harry looked up to see that Snape's face had gone slack with shock. He lifted his own arm and copied Harry. The Dark Mark looked darker and uglier than Harry had thought, but what caught his attention was that the skin around it was red and inflamed.

Snape was striding out of the room. Harry followed him with some difficulty. His legs felt weak.

"Headmaster! I require your assistance!"

"Very well, Severus," said Dumbledore's head in the fireplace.

"Potter!" Harry wondered hazily why Snape had one of his arms around his waist and another gripping his shoulder, and then realized he was being half-carried to the couch. "Idiot boy! You are far too weak to be out of bed!"

Dumbledore stepped out of the Floo a few minutes later. "Why, good evening, Harry," he said. He was studying Harry very keenly. "It is good to see you better."

Harry shot a look at Snape, who had earlier denied that Dumbledore had been here. Snape wasn't looking at him.

"Well, Severus?" Was it Harry's imagination, or did he detect frostiness in Dumbledore's normally cheerful tones? "Whatever has happened so soon after this morning?"

Harry felt a rush of relief. Dumbledore had not abandoned him; he had been keeping a watch on them.

Snape explained that his Dark Mark was burning, and Harry had felt the pain instead of him. There was silence, and Dumbledore looked as surprised as Harry had ever seen him.

He began explaining, and this made Harry's head clear suddenly.

"What!" Harry said, forgetting himself momentarily. Snape glared at his lack of propriety.

Dumbledore looked less grave for the first time since the beginning of this business. "Yes, Harry," he said. A hint of the familiar twinkle had returned to his eyes. "You no longer see Professor Snape as an enemy. The opposite, in fact; and the Bond recognizes this. Consciously or not, you wish to make amends for your actions, and the Bond has given you a way to do so: by taking on his pain."

Harry ducked his head, trying not to blush at the approval in Dumbledore's voice. He hadn't realized that his feelings for Snape had changed so dramatically; in fact, he still couldn't believe it.

"That is all well and good." Harry cringed at the sneer in Snape's voice. Looking up through his lashes, he saw that Snape's face showed nothing but fury and revulsion. He cursed himself for the stab of hurt he felt—of course Snape would be disgusted by the idea of Harry trying to make amends. "But Potter will not survive the ordeal of taking on such a burden for a year, Headmaster."

Harry's mind flashed back to the memory of Snape collapsed on a chair, bleeding and trembling, too weak to reach his potions. His stomach churned at the thought of experiencing such injuries on a regular basis.

"I'm afraid there is no way out of it, Severus," Dumbledore was saying. He looked saddened by Snape's assessment. "Until we can find a way to break the Bond, it will extract from Harry what it feels necessary until there is a balance between the two of you."

Harry did not miss the pointed look Dumbledore gave Snape. Snape scowled in response. Harry cleared his throat. "It's all right, Professor," he addressed Dumbledore, trying to keep his voice from trembling. "I'll manage…it's the least I can do, anyway." Dumbledore's gaze was both compassionate and proud. Snape, by contrast, looked as though he had bitten into something sour.

"Professor!" Harry said, something alarming occurring to him. "You haven't answered Vol—his summons!"

To his utter shock, Snape blushed when Dumbledore smiled at the spy. "I believe Severus thought this new development required his immediate attention, more so than Voldemort himself."

Harry couldn't understand how this was cause for amusement. "B-but he'll be punished!" And since when was Harry's health more important than the duties of Order's top spy, anyway?

"I'll thank you to leave me to judge how I should do my job, Potter," Snape spat.

"Now, now, Severus," Dumbledore soothed. "Harry's concern is admirable, and furthermore, perfectly justified."

Snape didn't seem to agree.

After saying goodnight, Dumbledore left through the Floo. Snape remained seated, glaring at Harry. Harry now felt like a fool when he remembered Dumbledore's words and his own ready acceptance. His 'saving-people thing' was making things even more difficult.

"I believe it is only _fair_ ," Snape said softly, "that you should know that your feelings are not real."

Harry looked at him in confusion.

"The Bond manipulates the feelings of its participants, Potter," Snape's voice had taken on a cold, lecturing quality. "Its purpose is to bring balance—a balance that you upset when you broke into a mind that neither trusts nor welcomes you. It will attempt to achieve this balance by bringing the participants to an understanding; or, barring that, through punishment. Apparently," here his lips twisted in a sneer, "it is finding your feelings easy to manipulate."

Harry swallowed. "What feelings? "

"Don't play coy, Mr Potter. I have been granted unlimited access into your mind, and I have observed your thoughts—"

"Wait, you can hear my _thoughts_?"

"Do not interrupt me," Snape said dangerously. "Your thoughts and feelings are open to me. I know that your pathetic, idealistic mind has led you to believe _reconciliation_ is possible between us."

Harry clenched his fists and looked away from Snape's mocking face.

"This is another reason why you require Occlumency and control over your emotions. The Bond has found an easy target in your naïveté. I assure you, you will regret it."

"Do you think this was what my mother would have wanted?" Harry burst out. "You and I at odds all the time?"

Snape sprang out of his seat, his eyes blazing. " _What_ have I told you about _personal comments, Potter_?" he hissed.

The familiar pain returned in waves. Harry doubled over, groaning.

"Potter," Snape called. "Get up."

Harry obeyed, knowing by now that it was useless to resist. "I know you'll think I'm saying this because of the bond... or to make my own life easier as a slave," he said, struggling to keep his voice even and his posture upright, "but I don't want to be your enemy, sir."

Snape's expression grew scornful in addition to angry. "More fool you. Come here, Potter."

Harry had bent over and was resting his hands on his knees. "Come where?" he asked.

Snape let out a frustrated sound. "What did I tell you about the master's touch?" He strode forward and grabbed Harry's arm, pulling him upright. "Do you feel the difference?"

"Yeah, less pain." But not by much, Harry thought, screwing his face up.

"Because of the contact," Snape sounded faintly disgusted now. "The more the contact, the less your pain."

Harry stared at the man as his meaning sunk in. "Oh," he said.

Snape looked back at him impassively.

"But you'd hate—you just said—you don't have to do that," Harry said disjointedly, letting out another moan of pain. Snape's grip on his arm was the only thing keeping him upright by now.

Snape actually _sighed_. Mild astonishment broke through Harry's haze of suffering. "Come here, Potter," he said again, sounding uncomfortable now.

Harry sent him apologetic glance and stepped closer. A sudden suspicion seized him as to whether this was all a cruel trick.

Snape's arms reached around him and pulled him to his black-clad chest. Harry instantly relaxed against him, much to his own surprise. The disappearance of the pain was probably the reason, he told himself. Snape's hair tickled his neck, and suddenly Harry felt the strangest feeling of safety and warmth wash over him. Mrs. Weasley had been the only one who had ever held him like this before. Harry realized that the bond was probably making him feel like this, that it wasn't real, like Snape had said; and that he should probably pull away soon…

Snape's fingers ran up his spine. For some reason, the contact made Harry shudder. His breath caught. He suddenly became very aware of the arms encircling him, and the man he was leaning against and the hands on his back.

"My, Potter," said the silken voice. "Are you so starved for affection that you would cling to the first person who offers some semblance of it?"

A blush of anger and mortification crept up Harry's neck as he realized he had been doing just that—clinging. He hurriedly stepped back, releasing Snape just as the man let go of him.

"Lesson one in emotional manipulation of magical origin, Mr. Potter," Snape mocked. "When your enemy's embrace feels like a haven to you, sit up and take notice."

Harry looked away from Snape's eyes, feeling helpless and rather pathetic. He hadn't wanted the hug to stop; he _still_ wanted it. Snape was right.

"Let the universe take note," Snape drawled. "A Potter has admitted that a Snape was right."

 _Would you please get out of my head?_ Harry directed his thoughts at Snape deliberately this time.

"I have every right to everything inside your head, Potter… no matter how little that may turn out to be."

Harry had had enough. _I'm sorry you had to do that, sir. You needn't do it again._ He knelt reluctantly. _Dominus._

"You'll have to say that last bit out loud, Potter."

Harry resisted the urge to grit his teeth as he obeyed. A sensation similar to fingers ghosting on his neck made him shiver. Snape's face was as impassive as ever.

"You may leave, Potter."

* * *

The next morning found Harry sitting at Snape's feet, beginning on the absurdly large number of lines he'd been assigned as punishment.

 _1\. I will never again attempt obscure magic without adult supervision. In addition, I will respect others' privacy. I will not be a law unto myself, particularly while dealing with those in authority over me. I will give my teachers the respect they are due._

 _2\. I will never again attempt obscure magic without adult supervision. In addition, I will respect others' privacy. I will not be a law unto myself, particularly while dealing with those in authority over me. I will give my teachers the respect they are due._

 _3\. I will never again attempt obscure magic…_

Ten thousand times. Harry suddenly had a vision of hurling his inkpot at the man sitting above him. _Sadistic, blind autocrat._

Only, Harry was beginning to doubt that now. Harry had sat at the table to do his lines, only to nearly collapse onto the table when the pain hit. Before Harry had even had time to process what was going on, he had found himself in Snape's arms, blinking dazedly as the pain lifted. Snape had dashed over from his side of the table the second he had sensed Harry's pain across their mental bond.

One of its few benefits, Harry thought, forcefully pushing away the thought of how good the hug had felt. And the compassion that he thought he'd seen on Snape's face.

"What did I do wrong this time?" Harry had asked tiredly.

"The Bond does not allow you to sit at the same level as I," Snape had replied, surprisingly without rancor. "The slave has to sit lower. Which is why I ask you to sit on the floor."

"So it's part of the rules? You didn't make that up?" His voice had come out smaller than he'd intended. He'd noticed Snape hadn't let go of him though he had to know Harry's pain had receded.

"I did not," Snape had replied softly.

… _I will give my teachers the respect they are due._

 _11\. I will never again attempt magic without adult supervision. In addition, I will respect…_

Part of Harry didn't want to trust this softer side of Snape. (Harry almost snorted out loud. Snape? Soft? The Bond must be driving him insane!) The rest of him didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Harry sat up straight suddenly. If the purpose of the bond was to promote understanding, like Snape had said, could the Bond be affecting _him_ , too? He opened his mouth to ask.

"Shut up, Harry."

"I didn't even say anything!"

Snape looked decidedly less than soft now. "You were thinking rather loudly," he snapped.

"Well, I can't help that," Harry grumbled, looking away from the man's angry gaze.

"As a matter of fact, you can," Snape said. "Which is why I am training you."

Harry perked up. "Occlumency will help me keep you out?"

"…No." Snape didn't look pleased about that. "But it will give you some control."

Harry realized why he looked so peeved. "You can't keep me out," he said slowly. "Even with Occlumency?"

The scowl and the silence were answer enough.

"Cheer up, Professor," Harry said, grinning. "It's better than having V—ol' Snake Face in your head."

Snape's face twitched for a second, he was certain of it. "So certain of that, are you, Harry?"

Harry blinked. "You've been calling me Ha—ow!" he gripped his forearm. Looking up, he saw that the faint trace of amusement on Snape's face had been wiped away. "Speak of the devil," he muttered.

"Indeed," Snape said, standing up and rushing out. He was back in a minute, holding three vials in his hands. "You are to take these in order," he whipped out his wand and the numbers 1,2 and 3 appeared on the vials, "if you experience pain in my absence."

He was gone before Harry could thank him.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

A/N: _A last minute edit. Sorry about that._

Let me know if you think this is too intimate to be platonic. I'll set Snape on you. Or possibly Voldemort. ;)

* * *

" _Crucio!"_

 _The man resisted, but was soon on the ground._

" _Find out where the boy is, Severus," Harry said, thoroughly enjoying the sight of the screaming, writhing Potions Master, "and you may be spared your pain." He watched in amusement as the man hauled himself to his knees and bowed, his hands trembling on his hips._

" _As my Lord wishes."_

 _At a nod from Harry, the man stood. He had contained his tremors admirably well, Harry thought._

 _The dark haired man's face morphed._

 _The red light struck Sirius' chest. Harry watched in horror, powerless to act, as he fell back into the Veil. Then his mouth was released from shocked paralysis._ "No! SIRIUS!"

 _A familiar mad cackle caught his attention. Fury mingled with his terror and grief as he laid eyes on his godfather's murderer. Bellatrix Lestrange stood before him in all her glory, mocking. Harry raised his wand._

"Potter! Harry!"

Harry lashed out as he tumbled into consciousness, arms and fists flailing. He hit the dark figure leaning over him, which then staggered backward.

"Oh, my…" Harry gasped at the sight of Snape bent over the table next to his bed, clutching a bleeding nose. A bruise was forming over his eye. Harry's face throbbed in sympathy. "I'm so sorry!"

"Well," Snape said dryly, "you're the one who'll feel the pain." He drew his wand. Harry flinched, and Snape stopped, his face tightening. Very slowly, he pointed the wand at himself and healed his nose. The corresponding pain in Harry's nose disappeared. "Do you truly believe me depraved enough to punish you for a nightmare, Harry?"

It was the name that jolted Harry out of his mindless staring. His breath hitched, and he realized he had tears streaming down his cheeks. His body ached all over. The sensation brought back the memory of screaming in pain as the Bond transferred Snape's pain to him. He had cursed the madman that had bound the two of them to such a fate, and sobbed until the potions did their work and he fell into an uneasy sleep. Really, he should have expected the nightmare.

"Take off your shirt."

The command had Harry staring in panic, his mind conjuring one sordid image after another. Snape's eyebrows lowered in a thunderous frown.

"You need help, you foolish child. Do as I say; or must I take your will from you?"

Harry couldn't help the terrified sob that escaped him as he hopelessly obeyed. His fledgling Occlumency skills had deserted him; his mind was blanketed in sheer terror.

"Lie on your stomach."

He did so. The freezing air of the dungeons wafted over his aching back. "Professor, I'm sorry," Harry whimpered into his pillow, feeling utterly pathetic. _Pull yourself together, idiot!_ he told himself, to no avail.

Soft and warm hands touched his neck. Harry went rigid, but no pain came. The fingers moved swiftly over his neck and shoulders. Wherever they passed, Harry felt his tense muscles uncoil. He took several deep breaths before speaking.

"You're…massaging?"

"No," Snape drawled. "I'm readying the red hot pokers."

Harry's face heated. "You could have told me what you were going to do."

"I greatly doubt anything I said would break through your stupefied terror."

Harry swiped at his tears as Snape continued working for several minutes, murmuring a spell now and then. His hands moved down Harry's back, and he let out an involuntary moan of relief and pleasure.

The hands stilled and left Harry's back. Harry's fists clenched. Regret and shame warred in his stomach. _I probably disgust him right now._

The blanket fell around his shoulders, and the edge of the bed dipped as Snape sat down. Fingers sank into Harry's hair. He held his breath. Snape ran his fingers through Harry's messy mop. The gesture felt both comforting and paternal.

Snape was _petting_ him.

 _Snape_ was petting _him_.

A shiver ran up Harry's spine, and he sighed contentedly. He felt himself again. Whatever would Ron have to say about this, he thought with amusement, picturing his friend's face.

"He was very angry, wasn't he, because you didn't go to him yesterday? Are you all right?"

Snape blew out a breath.

"...Sir," he added before Snape could scold.

"Enough unselfishness for the night, Potter," Snape ordered. His voice and touch were still gentle. "I am fine; you bore the brunt of the Dark Lord's anger."

"But the wounds would still —"

"I said, _enough_."

Harry fell silent. "Why do I keep shivering like that when you touch me?" He hadn't meant to sound complaining, he really hadn't... But it made him feel so silly. He really hoped it was the Bond.

"The Bond is forcing you to recognise your master's touch. "

"Oh." _Enough procrastinating._ Harry gathered his courage. "I think you're wrong about the Bond influencing feelings, Professor," he said quietly. At Snape's raised eyebrow, he continued. "When you wanted to help me, I wouldn't have responded like that…wouldn't have been afraid, I mean… if the Bond had me completely fooled."

Snape was silent. His hand had stopped moving, but hadn't left Harry's hair.

"Which means," Harry continued, "everything else was real too."

The hand was removed. Snape's lips twisted with some indecipherable emotion, and then his face smoothed. "Sleep, Potter," he commanded, rising from the edge of Harry's bed and dimming the lights in the room before leaving in a hurry.

 _'Potter' again._ Tears threatened Harry's eyes, and he angrily told himself to grow up. Why was he clinging to the man like a toddler? He'd manage fine on his own. He always had.

* * *

He was careful not to scream when the same nightmare returned a few hours later, and instead lay quietly, muffling his sobs. The pillow grew damp as he mourned the loss of the only true family he had left. The events of the past few days had been so quick and devastating that he hadn't had time to think about Sirius.

The lights in the room grew bright. Harry shut his eyes at once, trying to make his breathing even and shallow. There were no footsteps, but he sensed someone drawing close.

A tear flowed down his cheek. A finger wiped it away. "If you're trying to fool someone," the silky voice drawled, "pick a victim who cannot look into your mind with ease."

"I didn't want to disturb you," Harry said, ignoring the jab. "Don't you ever sleep?"

"Why would the sight of you lying awake disturb me, Potter?" Snape said, pointedly not mentioning the tears. "And no, I have trained myself to sleep less so I can catch Harry Potter wandering the corridors after curfew."

Harry was too tired and upset to retort. He debated the relative merits of keeping quiet and flinging a pillow at the man. Another tear dripped off the end of his nose.

His mattress dipped again. "I would not recommend the pillow," Snape advised. He didn't even sound sleepy. _Does he have nightmares too?_ "Move over, Potter."

Hary gaped at the man, wondering if he was still dreaming. A light swat to the side of his head brought him to his senses, and he slid to the other end of the bed.

"Not quite that far," Snape said patiently. Harry's stomach instantly began fluttering. Snape lifted his legs onto the bed and settled under the blanket, leaning against the headboard and looking more relaxed than Harry had ever seen him. Harry was suddenly very aware of their proximity.

 _Did I understand that correctly?_

Slowly, tentatively, he crept towards Snape. Then Snape reached out and slid his arm under Harry before pulling him upward onto his chest. Harry let out a small gasp. As before, he relaxed completely as soon as he came in contact with the man. Snape pulled Harry close again, one arm around his shoulders and another on Harry's waist. His breath fanned Harry's cheek. Harry closed his eyes, feeling overwhelmed.

"Professor," he said after a few embarrassing minutes of sobbing himself out. He wished he didn't sound quite so vulnerable. "Why are you doing this?"

Snape's fingers crept into Harry's hair again, and Harry shivered. "My condolences for your loss, Mr. Potter." His formal voice clashed horribly with their very much informal position, and Harry suppressed a hysterical giggle.

"No, you…you _wanted_ him to…"Harry stopped, realizing he really didn't want to get into that tonight. And he noticed Snape hadn't answered his question. It couldn't be because Harry was grieving…for Snape's long-time enemy, no less. Snape wouldn't suddenly decide to be kinder to Harry because _Sirius_ , of all people, had died. Something for which Harry still partially held Snape responsible. _He taunted Sirius into leaving the house._

The answer came to him in a flash, leaving him feeling remarkably stupid for not realizing it before.

Snape was humouring him for the Bond's sake. Dumbledore must have warned Snape that Harry's health and possibly his life were at risk if they continued fighting while the Bond kept punishing him. And Snape had mellowed his attitude, not for Harry's sake, but for Lily and the war.

It was so obvious. To Snape, Harry was just a piece in a war—a vital piece, that needed to be kept alive and reasonably healthy.

He remembered the interactions between Snape and Dumbledore after he'd collapsed with pain. It had seemed like he was warning Snape to go easy on Harry. _Dumbledore probably has Snape boxed into a corner..._

Snape had gone stiff under him, and Harry knew he had heard his thoughts. Not that he much cared.

Snape's thumb stroked Harry's cheek, and he twitched. Snape didn't react this time. "I had no idea you blamed me for Black's death," he said, and now his soft voice was neither soothing nor reassuring.

Harry tensed. Replying was useless and unnecessary; Snape probably knew his mind inside out by now. Instead, he said, "I _am_ grateful, you know."

Snape merely raised an eyebrow at him.

"For doing all…this." Harry gestured at the two of them. "Even if it's for the war and even if you still hate me." He was rather proud of himself for keeping his voice steady.

"Fifty lines for yet another personal remark," Snape said, lazily running a finger along Harry's jaw. The hairs on Harry's arms rose at the sensation. "And go to sleep," he added.

"That's the third time you've said that just to avoid talking," Harry complained. "You can't just send me off to sleep every time a topic comes up that you don't like!"

"As a matter of fact," Snape said, still uncharacteristically calm, "I can."

Harry saw the wand too late. His eyes began drifting shut against his will. Just before slipping into slumber, the silky voice said in his ear, "And I wouldn't judge another's motivations quite that hastily, Potter."

* * *

A/N: Short, I know. I'll try not to let it happen again.

They keep swinging back and forth, don't they, silly boys?... But I think it's more natural that way.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

A/N:

 _Kisses, tears and embraces are not in themselves evidence of [slash]._ –C.S. Lewis

Okay, explanations—for those who think the characters are OOC, or that my portrayal of a platonic relationship is weird/ inaccurate/ whatever, hear me out, please? The others can skip.

This story, as you may very well have figured, is a wish fulfillment technique. Pathetic, I suppose, but there it is. And writer's license and all that...

I _know_ it's very unlikely two people would behave the way these two are in a purely platonic relationship... But the point is, I _wish_ they would. Oh, and my little sister and I cuddle a LOT (purely platonic, obviously, eurgh), exactly like in this story. Plus, I have their Bond as an excuse to make them slightly out of character. It has practically blown apart both their barriers, laying bare their fears, weaknesses, wishes, everything. I ask you, isn't that reason enough for an unusually passionate platonic relationship? (Even then, I believe Snape _wouldn't_ soften this easily; and that problem is resolved a few chapters later, trust me. There is a good explanation. Things are not what they seem, in this story.)

This is more passionate than an ordinary parental relationship, but then it's supposed to be. Ordinary parental relationships don't come with this much baggage, and this late in life. Also, the kind of tension here isn't usual for a family relationship, either. Both Harry and Severus are capable of a great deal of passion; only they keep it all locked away in true English fashion (rolling eyes). If they knew each other better, I think it's very likely they'd be very, very close.

But... I really can't judge my story very well, I'm too close to it. So all I'm saying is, give _platonic_ fluff a chance, please? (A million pleases! I'm begging you!) Tell me what you think after chapter 10, or later. If you guys still think it's unlikely, I will REWRITE the whole thing. I mean it. I want my story to be at least halfway authentic where relationships are concerned, even if this story is for my pleasure. Okay? (peeking hopefully) Have I won anyone over?

Thanks to everyone who gave their opinions on this issue, they were very helpful!

SpringRoll: Thanks for the long review. I'm sorry you feel all the physical contact is weird; that must take the fun out of it for you. The cat comment made me laugh... Though you definitely have a point. Like I showed in Chapter 7, Snape's mind is flooded with Harry's emotions... He is forced to empathise with him, he can't help it. The Snape of canon is very uncomfortable with expressing emotion, but the Bond here is removing that (which was sort of the point of this story). His methods for comforting Harry... He's not comfortable with words, can you blame the guy for unconventional methods? :) This is my excuse for my self-serving scenes (I'm obsessed with platonic fluff, in case you hadn't noticed), I hope you find it persuasive.

You think Harry's OOC? Okay, think about this: JKR completely left out Harry's grieving process after Book 5. Don't you think it's likely he might have cried a little after waking from the inevitable nightmares? You do have a point here, too; Harry is usually stronger than this. But with his confrontations with Voldy, he usually has some way to fight back. With the Dursleys, I think he mostly disowned them in his mind—let it all roll off his back. Here he doesn't have those options. You see?

Oh, ew. Horribly long author's note. Here's a slightly longer-than-usual chapter to make up for it.

* * *

Harry approached the breakfast table, his stomach in knots, and knelt. " _Dominus_ ," he said, using the title respectfully.

Snape, who sat reading the _Prophet_ , ignored him. Harry waited, but the command to rise never came. At last, he clenched his jaw and rose to serve himself, watching Snape in case the man protested, and expecting the Bond to begin punishing him.

Nothing happened.

Harry kept glancing at Snape throughout the meal. It had been a few days since that night when Snape had comforted him, and every morning since had been like this one. He shook himself angrily. It was ridiculous to feel so upset at the man's behaviour, he told himself. After all, the silent treatment from Snape was a huge improvement over his usual behaviour. And Harry's suspicion had been perfectly legitimate. Snape still hated him, he was sure; how was he supposed to trust him blindly?

He thought he saw a sudden movement from Snape just then. _He can read_ _my thoughts, why doesn't he understand?_ He snorted to himself. _Snape? Understanding?_

The memory of Snape holding him and offering comfort for Harry's grief rose in his mind.

It was all so confusing. Why had Snape helped him that night? Was the Bond affecting Snape that much; what with Snape's mind being swamped with Harry's emotions? Harry grimaced. That didn't sound pleasant. Harry suddenly felt a fierce wave of regret at letting his guard down around this man, of all people. _What was I thinking? Even with the horrid Bond messing up my mind, how could I be fooled?_

Snape stood just then, his chair nearly falling back at the violence of the motion. He silently handed Harry a list of chores and left for the potions laboratory. Harry sat looking at the door he'd left through, his breakfast sitting like a lump in his stomach.

By the end of the day, Harry caught himself wondering if the new side of Snape that had seen had been his imagination. He had spent the day working, and Snape hadn't summoned him for Occlumency lessons. He had racked his brains for days for a solution to his current situation with Snape. The beginnings of an idea had sprung in his mind as he sat at his table, writing a letter to Hermione.

A knock sounded at the door and Snape stepped in. "The Headmaster is here to see you," he said in a flat voice, and left before Harry could say anything.

That had been the only time he'd spoken to Harry all day.

Harry found Dumbledore sitting on a couch, his eyes twinkling madly, for some reason unfathomable to Harry. Snape silently took his place in a corner of the room. "My boy," Dumbledore said, seeming happily oblivious to the tension in the room, "Professor Snape tells me he thinks your Occlumency skills have progressed enough that I should test them."

Harry's jaw dropped. He glanced at Snape, wondering if the man was playing some trick. Snape's dace darkened, and Harry hastily looked away as he realised Snape must have heard that thought. "I, uh—I don't understand, Professor," he said. "I can barely block Professor Snape from seeing my memories…almost never, actually. I was able to clear my mind with a little help from him," he blushed when Dumbledore smiled at the word _help_ , "but after that, the lessons went sort of downhill."

Dumbledore was still smiling. What did he find so amusing about Snape helping Harry clear his mind? "I know, Harry," he said. "We think it might be because of your Bond that you cannot shut him out. If, on the other hand, I legilimise you, that will not apply."

"Oh." Harry thought about that for a moment, trying not to be distracted by Snape's presence. "But I thought your teaching me was too dangerous?"

"I will not be teaching you, Harry. I believe you have already learnt," Dumbledore said simply.

Harry gaped again. Dumbledore merely looked back at him, smiling. Harry felt a pressure against his forehead, and realised he was being legilimised. He began to try and clear his mind, but the pressure vanished quickly.

"Or, rather," Dumbledore said, "the nature of the Bond is changing as your perceptions of each other change, and the Bond itself will is acting as your safeguard against outside assault."

"The Bond is protecting my mind from V— _him_?" He realised too late that he was still adhering to Snape's wishes about names when Dumbledore was in the room and it shouldn't have mattered.

"Yes."

There was silence as Harry drank in this startling pronouncement. "Will this put Professor Snape in danger? I mean, when he has to face V— _him_?"

Dumbledore sent Snape an indecipherable glance. "No, Harry. The Bond provides him with protection as well." Snape's face twisted as if he found this idea repulsive. Harry's fists clenched. "Well!" Dumbledore said happily, "this is good news indeed. Although I do think you will need to continue lessons, Harry; for when the Bond is satisfied and hence broken, the protection will probably be gone as well."

"Probably?" Harry exclaimed, and then bit his lip at the hopefulness in his voice. He _wanted_ the Bond gone, both physical and mental. He wasn't supposed to sound happy at the prospect of having his mind open to Snape forever. Snape's face was blank again, but Harry thought he looked like he agreed. Harry bit down on his lip harder.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "Clearly, we cannot predict its behaviour." With that ominous pronouncement, he stood and took his leave after wishing both of them well.

"Sir?" Harry called after Snape, who looked like he was about to retreat into his laboratory again. "Could…Could you wait, just for a minute? I have something I need to show you." He ran to his room as soon as he was sure Snape wouldn't leave, and returned holding his idea in his hands. _This is stupid,_ Harry told himself. _I'm being completely stupid. I'm supposed to be keeping him at arm's length, not apologising._ He handed it to Snape.

"What is this?"

Well, at least he was talking. "It's my album of photos of my family." Snape's head snapped up so fast he must've gotten whiplash. Harry swallowed. "I've been thinking, and from what I could make out of your memories," he hesitated when he saw Snape clench his fist, then continued, "I don't think you have many photos of her." Snape went still, and Harry knew he didn't need to clarify. "I know you won't want to see most of these, but I thought you'd like to sift through them yourself and duplicate the ones you want..."

 _And cut out the people you don't like, of course._ He didn't say this out loud, but he knew Snape could hear anyway.

Snape shot into motion. He towered over Harry, an ugly look on his face. "How many times must I tell you not to presume…?"

The sound of his voice faded, along with the room, and all Harry could think was, _Worst timing ever._ He was in one of Snape's memories again.

" _Hey, Snivellus!_ " _Harry tumbled to the ground as hex tripped him up. He gritted his teeth as everyone in the corridor burst into laughter._

This time it was memory after memory of James and Sirius' Snape-hunting, as Harry now called it. Snape gave as good as he got, but by the time Harry was out of the memories, he was sick to the stomach at how many times the attacks had been completely unprovoked. And at how their hatred was mostly unfounded.

He blinked to clear his blurry vision, wondering why the pain hadn't hit yet. In the past, there had been pain every time he accessed one of Snape's memories. His vision cleared, and he realised two things: one, that he'd been crying again, hence the blurry vision, and two, that he was sitting on Snape's lap.

Well, almost.

That thought didn't help. Harry blushed, but he didn't dare move for fear of offending Snape again. He didn't dare look at the man, either, so he contented himself with pressing his nose into Snape's chest and hoping the man would leave him alone.

No such luck. "Get off me, Potter, I am in no mood to coddle you today."

Harry complied with alacrity, trying not to show how much that hurt. "You…" He sputtered in anger, not even knowing where to begin. "What do you _want_ from me? Is it so wrong that I think you're being nice to me because Dumbledore ordered you to? I know he turned up the day I collapsed!"

"Keep your voice down," Snape snarled. "I warn you—if you collapse again now, because of disrespect to your master, I will not help you."

"Oh, for the love of— _you're not my master_!" The pain was immediate and horrible. Harry swayed on his feet, breathing hard. Snape sat watching him in cold silence. "I'm sorry," Harry said through gritted teeth, "for assuming the worst about you. And about the photographs. I honestly didn't mean any harm, okay? I was trying to apologise for offending you." He nearly laughed at the stunned look on Snape's face. " _And_ I'm sorry about what my father did to you." He bit back the rest, but knew Snpe was probably hearing his thoughts anyway. _Honestly, it's about time you got over it—or at least realised I'm not the same!_

Harry noticed Snape's fingers were inching towards the album, but now they stopped. He pointed his wand at Harry, who only had time to stiffen before a familiar sensation crept over his back. He pressed his lips together to stop a relieved moan from escaping. It felt exactly like Snape's fingers that night as he had skilfully massaged his sore muscles.

"What is—?"

"A replicating spell. You will feel the effects of a massage without someone actually doing it for you."

"Oh."

"Come here, Harry." Snape's voice had gone soft, and not in the menacing manner this time.

Harry sighed in irritation. _I suppose an apology was too much to ask for. Honestly, I don't why I put up with this._ "I'm sorry, Professor." He tried to keep his tone neutral and formal, which was difficult when the invisible fingers from the replicating spell climbed up his spine and all he wanted to do was let Snape hold him. "I don't feel like being coddled at the moment either." His irritation increased when Snape merely looked at him as though he knew Harry was lying. He could tell he'd annoyed Snape, too. "Goodnight, sir."

"Wait." Harry gasped as the cloud descended over his mind. "Stop," Snape said. "Kneel. You have not been dismissed."

" _Dominus_." The word left his mouth against his will. Harry cast a betrayed look at the man as the cloud lifted from his mind.

"To bed, Potter."

* * *

Harry tossed and turned in bed, unable to get to sleep. There had been only silence from the other side of his door for the last hour. His lips tightened at the thought of how Snape had overpowered his will.

A sob broke through the silence.

He lay very still and listened. There it was again. Could _Snape_ be—no. Absolutely not.

But of course he'd never be able to sleep now. The hold on his will had long faded, so he got off his bed and silently crept to the door. He slipped out and stood still, staring.

Snape sat on the sofa, hunched over a few rectangular pieces of paper that he clutched in his hands. Harry's album sat by him. Tears ran down his face, dripping off his chin and nose.

Oh.

He really should leave, Harry thought, before Snape saw him. He didn't need another —quite literally—painful lecture on privacy. He stiffened and almost stepped back in panic as Snape suddenly rose. But the man swept out of the door without a look at Harry.

Strange. He always knew when someone was in the room, especially when he could sense that someone's mind all the time. He had to have known Harry was there.

Harry followed him out. The black-clad figure (it suddenly made sense why Snape always wore mourning colours, Harry thought with a tightening of his throat) swept out of the dungeons and up staircases. They ended up in the Owlery. Snape headed for a window and stood leaning against the window sill, head bowed.

Harry couldn't bear it any longer. He walked up to the man slowly; making sure Snape heard his footfalls. Snape showed no reaction except for the hitching of his breath. Harry extended his hand and put it on the man's arm.

Snape stood as still as a statue.

Harry's hand trailed upwards towards Snape's shoulder.

It was difficult to say who moved first, but a moment later Harry's head was on the potions master's shoulder and they were in each other's arms.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Professor," Harry whispered, echoing Snape's words to him as he had grieved. Snape's only reply was to move his fingers into Harry's hair. They stood in comfortable silence, Harry unable to believe his luck.

"You fool," Snape said softly after a long while. "Comforting your tormentor and enemy, feeling compassion for their sorrow…you are entirely unfit for any kind of war, Potter."

Harry's only reply was to insist, " _Harry_."

"You're going to regret this," Snape promised. He was still stroking Harry's hair, which Harry thought was a little contradictory. He felt Snape's touch on his mind. The man jerked and stepped back. "You've been hiding your pain from me."

"Erm," Harry replied, remembering the number of times in the past few days that he had nearly collapsed from pain. He had thought Snape knew, and was refusing to help. "It was nothing."

"Liar." Snape's tone was cool, clinical. "From now on you will come to me when you are in pain resulting from punishment by the Bond. That is an order."

Harry recoiled in horror as the cloud descended over his mind. "No!" he said, hissing at the pain caused by his fighting off the influence.

At once, Snape grabbed him into a firm but gentle hold. "Stop fighting it!"

"Stop ordering me, then!" Harry pushed weakly at Snape's chest. " _Please_ , Professor!"

Snape growled in frustration and pulled him closer. The cloud lifted from Harry's mind. "Why can you not see that I am doing this to protect you from your own foolish pride? The Bond's punishments may well end up killing you!"

"I don't care!" Harry said, and added mentally, _Because this is one of the few things I have control over anymore!_

Snape's lips were set in a stubborn line. The cloud suddenly returned, swamping Harry's mind completely, and he slumped against his teacher. "I'll do it," he heard himself say. Then his mind was his own again, and he felt something soft and warm on his forehead.

Snape was kissing him, now. A shiver ran up Harry's spine. He wanted to cling to the man and he wanted to run away.

"Whatever else you may believe of me," Snape murmured against Harry's skin, "believe at least that I wish you to remain alive and healthy."

 _Don't,_ Harry pleaded silently.

"Don't what, child?" Snape sounded so gentle it made Harry's breath catch.

 _Don't act like you care_.

Silence. And then Snape called, "Dobby!"

Harry started when the elf appeared with a crack. "What can Dobby be doing for Harry Potter sir and Professor Snape sir?" he said, his eyes large and eager in the darkness.

"Take us to my bedroom," Snape commanded. Harry only had time to let out a flustered, "What?" before space twisted around them and spat them out in an unfamiliar room. Snape held him up as he staggered and nearly fell.

"You are weak and pale," Snape accused.

"Er…"

"Sit." Snape pushed him into a chair, and then wordlessly summoned a vial of potion. He extended it to Harry, who slowly took it and looked up at Snape fearfully. Snape's face darkened.

"What is it?"

"You'll see." Snape stood over him menacingly. "Drink it."

"Why have you brought me _here_?"

"For goodness' sake, Potter!" Snape exploded. "Must you make it so difficult for someone to help you?" He waved his wand in a complicated movement, and a cold sensation filled Harry's stomach. He looked down to find the vial empty.

"Hey!" It was the oddest sensation; much like he imagined Alice in Wonderland would have felt when she shrunk down to the size of a small rodent. In his case, he seemed to have shrunk to the size of a five year old. He jumped up in alarm, only to trip over his now overly large clothes. Snape flicked his wand again, and Harry's clothes shrunk down to his new size, but Harry was in no mood to appreciate the gesture. He clenched his fists. "What have you done?" He wanted to ignore the pain that came as a result of this disrespect, but Snape bent down and awkwardly picked him up, ignoring Harry's loud protests.

"Shut up, Harry," he said wearily, sitting down in the armchair with Harry in his lap. Harry squirmed uncomfortably, but Snape held him fast.

"You can't—why did you…" Gracious, even his voice was high-pitched like a five-year old's.

"Because it is not appropriate for a teacher and a teenaged student to behave like a pair of new lovers," Snape stated.

Harry glared, trying not to blush at the description. "And this is your grand solution, is it?"

"Manners, Potter," Snape drawled. "I realise you will not particularly like it at first, but it is the best way I can help you keep the Bond satisfied _and_ simultaneously keep your sanity and health intact. This is my condition, P—Harry."

 _You aren't leaving me much choice, are you?_ Harry thought in resentment.

Snape tilted his head like a curious cat. The comparison did not help remove the sense of surrealism that had descended over the entire conversation. His fingers trailed up Harry's back and traced patterns on his neck. "Would you truly prefer suffering all that pain to this?"

Harry growled in frustration when his body responded with a shiver to Snape's touch. "You haven't even told me exactly what 'this' is!"

"Your body has been shrunk down to the size of a five year old, although you look even smaller." Snape's lip twitched at Harry's scowl. "Your mind and abilities: mental, physical and magical, remain exactly the same."

"Oh," Harry said, surprised. That was actually better than it could have been. Another thought occurred to him. "But then I'm actually a sixteen year old! What difference does any of this make?"

"Perception," Snape said in a flat voice, and Harry could tell he was losing patience.

He sighed. "You know, by this argument you could shrink me down so I could fit in your palm—Professor!" he exclaimed in alarm at Snape's speculative expression. "I wasn't serious!"

Snape looked amused again; an odd expression on the usually dour man. He stood, put Harry in the chair, and said, "You may sleep there—," he transfigured the chair into a bed—"or return to your room. If you need me at night, you may call me or share my bed." Snape had reduced the light levels in the room, so Harry couldn't tell if he'd imagined the awkward expression on his teacher's face. His voice had been as smooth as ever.

Harry lay staring at the ceiling of Snape's room after Snape had gotten into bed. The ceiling was charmed to have little twinkling lights on it. The effect was not quite as realistic as the stars on the ceiling of the Great Hall, but still very beautiful. Who would have known Snape appreciated such things?

 _Return to your room_. Your _room_. Snape had been referring to his spare bedroom as Harry's for a while now, but Harry hadn't really noticed. Odd, that his living conditions were better as Snape's slave than as the Dursleys' unwelcome resident.

 _Did you charm the ceiling, Professor?_ He was learning not to think too loudly so that his voice wouldn't be the mental equivalent of a shout in Snape's mind. He didn't want to wake the man if he was already asleep.

Snape took so long to respond that Harry thought he really was asleep. "Yes."

 _It's fantastic._

"Goodnight, Harry." Snape sounded tired. Harry felt a stab of guilt at causing him so much trouble.

"Goodnight, sir."

* * *

A/N: Okay, I know Harry's being confusing. That's coz he's confused :) (Actually, the same thing applies to Snape.) With everything he knows about Snape now, he can't really return to simply hating him, especially after Snape started to be nice to him. Also, Harry is (I believe) far more mature and forgiving than Snape is. Witness how he named his son after his childhood tormentor, in canon. Would Snape ever have done that, if the positions were reversed? Nuh-uh. And all this is without taking the Bond into consideration.

 _ **Next chapter: A glimpse into Snape's thoughts during this fiasco. Prepare for at least a mild shock. (Understatement, methinks.)**_

It's midnight and I'm half asleep; please excuse any mistakes I've made—tell me and I'll correct them (this applies to all chapters, really).


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

"Ah, Severus. What-"

"The boy clings to me like a two year old to its mother," Severus interrupted— something he never did except in extreme circumstances.

"Oh?" Dumbledore said mildly, his eyes beginning to twinkle.

"It must stop."

The twinkle was gone immediately. The headmaster was no fool; he knew this was no fit of pique. "I see, and your reasons are...?"

"Very simple," Severus finished the sentence. "The boy is succumbing to the Bond's emotional manipulation, and expects me to respond in kind. If I push him away, the Bond will punish him for presuming— which we cannot have if he is to remain healthy and sane." He took care to keep his tone neutral. Tricking Albus Dumbledore was not something one did lightly.

"And what do you propose be done about it, Severus?" Dumbledore was being difficult to read, as well.

"I convince him once and for all that keeping up this charade is pointless. He will be disappointed, but—"

"You seem quite well-tuned to his feelings, Severus." There didn't seem to be a threat hidden in the sentence ( _Are you taking advantage of the Bond to dig into his mind?_ ), but Severus stiffened anyway. Dumbledore's expression softened. "You are affected by the Bond yourself, aren't you, my boy?"

Severus relaxed a little at the ridiculously familiar endearment. Boy, indeed. Not that he could blame Dumbledore —Severus himself was even more hopeless where a certain green-eyed brat was concerned. "I...am, a little,"he admitted. It was the truth and yet not the truth. A great deal of what he had shown to the boy had, after all, been pretence. Severus dug his nails into his palms, allowing his frustration to show. He did not want to play this game with Dumbledore, too; but he had no choice— the headmaster would always take the boy's side, so Severus needed to make sure he wouldn't force the two of them into a relationship.

For a moment, rage filled him: rage at Potter for putting him in this situation; rage at Dumbledore, who would always take the Gryffindor's side; rage at himself for stooping to this. _If Potter so wanted it, you would hand me to him on a platter as though I were the slave, wouldn't you, Dumbledore? Force me to look after his every need, never mind his past misdeeds?_ Perhaps he was being paranoid, but the reality came close and he knew it. _I don't want this! I don't want to lie to him and cheat him! But the pair of you have together left me with no choice—and frankly, Potter probably deserves it._

"Do you truly believe there is no hope for the two of you to get around your differences, then?" Dumbledore snapped him out of his brooding.

Severus relaxed again. If he was being asked an opinion, it wasn't very likely he'd be ordered to play father figure to Potter. His stomach churned in revulsion at the thought. "If Potter and I became…close, it would... throw me off balance, so to speak," he forced himself to say. That wasn't a complete lie, either. "The mental Bond between us grows stronger as he grows further attached to me, and—" Severus' breath hitched at this point.

He closed his eyes and turned away from the compassion on Dumbledore's face. What was _wrong_ with him? He wasn't supposed to be this affected by Potter's antics, no matter how stupidly endearing!

"... Occlumency is of very little use against this Bond, as you very well know, Dumbledore. In the Dark Lord's presence, a liability such as this would be fatal." The Bond did protect his mind, but that would be of no use if Severus's composure was lost thanks to worrying over the brat.

"For you as well as the Order," Dumbledore murmured. Well, at least he was being put first, Severus thought resentfully, and then stopped. Since when did he care if he lived or died? For sixteen years now he had been ready to follow Lily (his duties were certainly not attractive enough for him to wish to live)— what had changed?

"I cannot judge the difficulty caused by the Bond, Severus, only you can. I suspect Harry will be devastated if you break off your growing rapport" — Severus might have scoffed at that if he didn't know it to be utterly, terrifyingly true — "he has been through so much in so little time, I fear this may push him over the edge. And you, Severus, may need him more than you think. For your own sake as well as his, I ask you to reconsider... He is very happy with you, Severus," Dumbledore ended, speaking gently now.

Severus looked away, pride and shame warring in his chest. Pride and shame were near constants in his life now, especially after the child came to him for comfort and rewarded him with his smiling emerald eyes. Reconsider! He had spent night after sleepless night with the child in his arms, agonising over this decision!

"If there is nothing to change your mind," the headmaster sighed, "... then do what you must."

 _I always do, Dumbledore._

Severus woke with a strong feeling of pain and distress that was not his own. Realising what it meant, he growled as he headed for his door, throwing on his robe along the way. He took care to Occlude as he emerged into the living room. It wouldn't do Potter any good to know how angry he really was.

 _I don't believe I have ever been this confused in my entire life._ It was starting to wear him out. He was a triple agent and had played a part for many years now. Deception was practically a way of life for him. But this farce with Potter was taking deceit to an all-new level: to the extent that the line between truth and ruse had blurred even for the liar.

He really hated the Bond.

The cause of all this trouble was currently kneeling outside the door to his quarters, clutching his head. Severus smoothed his furious expression into one of mild concern. The boy began babbling an apology as soon as Severus entered his field of vision, and Severus raised a finger for silence before pulling the pint-sized boy up and into an embrace. He grimaced at the contact, knowing Potter's face was turned away and that he couldn't see.

As a rule, apologies were insincere efforts to avoid the consequences of wrongdoing, and a waste of time. They were good for humiliating the one doing the apologizing, but as means to set things right they were worse than useless. Lily had taught him that, after he had apologised for what he was convinced would be the last time in his life. Oh, he had sobbed endless apologies to her after that horrible Halloween, hoping she would hear him, wherever she was; but sense had reasserted itself during those first few long, bitter months. It was too late for apologies. Actions were all that mattered, and all he had left.

"I'm sorry, Professor," the boy said again, leaning into Severus' shoulder. Severus closed his eyes. Potter was not the only one whom the Bond had infected with sentimental foolishness. He had to fight it on a regular basis, what with Potter's every thought and feeling being laid open to him.

"And why," Severus whispered, "were you heading out of my quarters at the dead of night? A rendezvous with a few bloodthirsty Death Eaters, perhaps?" He realized too late that he had used 'my' instead of 'our' to refer to their living situation. The truth would out, sometimes, it seemed. Oh, well. He was tired of pretending, even if it was for a convoluted form of revenge. He wanted the Potter brat gone from his life, not lounging in his embrace as if he belonged there.

The child had noticed. He cringed, recognising the ominous note in Severus' soft tones. "My birthday presents usually arrive at midnight," he said timidly. "I just wanted to go up to the Owlery to get them."

"And did it never occur to you," Severus said, "that the reason you are confined to these quarters is not so I can enjoy the pleasure of your company, but for your own safety? Was being kidnapped from within the school once not enough for you?"

Potter was shrinking further and further away from him, as though he were trying to make himself less visible. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Interesting. For the umpteenth time, Severus pondered the differences between the arrogant brat he knew when school was in session, and the rather quiet, shy child currently invading his quarters and his mind. He didn't think he'd heard Potter apologise this much even to McGonagall or Dumbledore. As if to prove the point, the boy's emotions washed across their mental link, all contrite and miserable and fearful of offending. Also present in this flood were memories of numerous birthdays past spent alone, with nary a well-wish, let alone a present. Severus gritted his teeth in helpless anger as the Bond did its work.

He ran a hand over the boy's cheek, feeling him go lax with relief. When had his opinion begun to matter so much to Harry Potter? "I did not realise," Severus said, much gentler than he had intended. "I will have the owls bring the presents here."

"Really?" Potter's eyes were wide and shining with surprise and joy. The green eyes pierced Severus as they always did—with a mixture of sadness and nostalgia and loss. "Thanks, Professor!"

Severus got out his wand and did as he had promised, before retreating to his room to watch the boy through a crack in his doorway. Every time he tried to distance himself from Potter, something like this would happen. He watched the joy on the boy's face as he unwrapped those few presents, and made up his mind.

 _Fool_ , he said to himself. _Must you dig yourself in deeper?_

Potter bent over the Pensieve- rather hesitantly, Severus thought, probably due to their history with the objects.

The memory was out of Severus' seventh year as a student, during the Yule Ball. Potter the senior had secured the affections of the woman of his dreams at long last, and had been making no effort to keep his euphoria secret. Severus had stood alongside the Death Eaters in the glimmering Hall, trying not to watch Lily in the arms of the man he hated more than anyone in the world, and trying to calm the storm of pain and resentment and longing and loss that still raged within him whenever he looked at her. Occlumency had been his refuge, even then. He had felt a twinge of pride when he'd successfully kept any emotion from showing on his face as he watched Potter twirl his red-haired beauty round and round the Great Hall.

Later that night, he'd heard that Lily Evans was engaged to James Potter.

What had possessed him to hand over the memory of a triumphant Potter to said bully's son, he didn't know. He did, however, know that the younger Potter would enjoy the sight of his parents on their first dance.

 _Pathetic_ , he thought, unsure whether he was addressing the overemotional teen or himself.

The child emerged from the memory with flushed cheeks. Catching sight of Severus standing in the doorway of his bedroom, he jumped down from the chair he was standing on (in order to reach the table) and strode purposefully towards him. Instinctively reading his intention, Severus held out his arms and swung the boy up onto his hip. Potter immediately buried his head in Severus' neck.

"Why don't you hate me anymore?" the boy said, very softly.

Severus tensed, and then forced himself to relax. "It is rather difficult to hate you after one has been inside your mind the way I now have," he replied truthfully, keeping his voice as low as the boy's. _But I sincerely hope I can manage it._

"Thank you, Professor," Potter murmured after a pause during which he showed no intention of ending the embrace. His voice trembled. "I think that was the best birthday present I've ever had."

 _A hundred points to Slytherin, I suppose_ , Severus congratulated himself half-heartedly. He had won Potter's trust enough that the boy had dared to initiate an embrace.

Potter rubbed his cheek against Severus's shoulder. He wanted to push the presumptuous boy away. Telling himself it was only an act that would end soon enough, he pulled the boy closer instead, and pressed his lips to his forehead. The child sighed and fairly melted against him. Severus suppressed a smile. He did _not_ enjoy the reactions fatherly physical contact elicited from the child, and he would swear it till his dying day. It was pure pretence when he nipped the boy's ear just to hear him mew and huddle closer.

"Pro-fes-sor…" The boy was whimpering, but he was far from upset. Severus clinically pondered the reason why, and finally decided it had to be the Bond.

He sighed into the boy's hair. "That title seems rather unsuitable now, Harry."

A smile pulled at Potter's mouth. "I've been trying to get you to see that for ages," he said, regaining some of his cheek.

"Brat," Severus muttered. "'Severus' will do."

"Severus," Potter repeated, rather dazedly. The name sounded decidedly strange coming from a student's lips, but Potter's mind radiated joyful approval, so who was he to bridle, Severus thought dryly.

"Harry," Severus said in response. The nervousness in his voice wasn't completely feigned, and Potter seemed to pick up on it at once. "I realise this is not appropriate timing, but today of all days, I feel I owe this to you." Potter inclined his head curiously, and Severus had to fight not to stare. That gesture was so _Lily._ He easily made his voice go soft and hesitant. "I am... deeply and sincerely sorry for the part I played…in orphaning you. No, shut up." The boy had opened his mouth to protest. He cupped Potter's cheek with his hand. "You seem to have forgotten, idiot Gryffindor that you are, but I was part of the many forces that worked towards the death of your parents. You deserve an apology, at the very least, from one of the people who got them killed." Severus realised to his chagrin that he wasn't even pretending the remorse in his expression now. His throat felt scratchy.

"Only you would insult someone while apologising to them, Severus," Potter said dryly, stressing the name ever so slightly. "Of course you're forgiven," he said, as if that was all there was to it. Then he seemed to hesitate, looking down at his hands that were resting on Severus' chest. "Will…will you forgive me for invading your memories?"

Severus blinked at the audacious boy, his chest constricting. The fear and pleading coming across their link was almost unbearable. Then he came to his senses and kissed the boy's temple, wondering at how naturally paternal it felt. "Yes," he whispered, torn between anger and admiration at the boy's strategy. The child shivered when Severus' lips touched him.

Apologies were generally worse than useless. Now, though, with tears blurring his vision and the unnaturally solemn judge in his arms, Severus wondered. A small hand wiped away the wetness on his cheek. He would have twisted away, but it felt so comforting, he couldn't bring himself to.

A little later, when the boy asked for a second dose of the Regressing potion, Severus suppressed the antagonistic side of his inner battle and decided to enjoy his temporary fatherhood.

 _So enjoy this while you can, Potter,_ he thought as he buried his face in the boy's hair.

A/N: Mua-ha-ha. I'm evil. Yes, Snape's been pretending, though the pretence became real at a point. He started the charade as a sick way of revenge; but then the Bond and Harry (and the power of Love) got to him. Poor Snape... Blind, vengeful, idiotic Snape. Serves him right, this conflict.

Although now he's planning to push Harry away properly... Mua-ha— sorry, I'll shut up now.


	11. Chapter 11: Should I Doubt?

**CHAPTER 11**

 **A/N: Yep, it's super-fluffy, nope, it isn't slash.**

 **Mostly fluff for a while now, but rest assured the plot exists and will reassert itself. In the meantime, enjoy!**

* * *

The first thing Snape did the next morning when Harry reached the dining table was to sweep him into a hug. He had done the same thing the previous night, when Harry had begun to kneel after Snape had dismissed him. "You will not do that again," he had commanded, while still holding Harry. Then he had smirked. "Not even if you have to spend all your time clinging to me." Harry had blushed and tried to mumble something vaguely grateful, he couldn't remember what.

"Good morning, Severus." It came out soft and hesitant. It still felt odd to call Snape by his given name, and probably would for a long time.

A strange smile tugged at Snape's lips. "Good morning, child."

Harry smiled back, feeling oddly nervous. He had the funny feeling Snape's good mood wouldn't last very long. Not with him around, anyway.

Snape's smile froze, and Harry looked away, his heart beating fast. _I really wish I could stop my thoughts leaking into Snape's mind._ He started as Snape's fingers touched his cheek and ran down his neck. His stomach still filled with butterflies every time Snape did that, and it rarely felt like an annoyance. Snape said nothing, merely looked at Harry, and Harry felt himself beginning to blush. He looked down feeling oddly reassured and annoyed at the way Snape affected him.

"Sit down and have breakfast, Harry."

Harry began to do as he said, and then stared. "What's happened to the table?"

Harry's side of the table was sunken. It was as if half the table had been made for an adult, and the other half just tall enough for a chil, and the two parts were joined by a vertical slab.

"Figure it out."

Harry rolled his eyes at the man's superior tone, and guessed wildly. "You altered the table so I can sit without the Bond punishing me?"

"... For sitting at the same level as your master, yes. Well done, Harry," Snape said in mock surprise.

"Thanks, Sev." Harry grinned cheekily at Snape's stunned reaction. His mother had called Snape that—he'd remembered this little tidbit from his visions about Snape. "For the altered table, I mean."

Snape took a while to recover, Harry observed in amusement as breakfast progressed. _This is going to be fun._

But all thoughts of fun were thrown out of his mind as Snape led him to the Strictly Off-Limits Potions Laboratory after breakfast. _Oh, no, no, no,_ Harry thought in panic. _He's going to make me work on potions. I thought the whole idea was to keep me out of trouble and in his good books?_

Then he saw Snape smirk as he flicked his wand to get a work station ready, and realisation struck. Harry scowled, trying not to blush. Snape knew exactly how much Harry was dreading this—it was Snape's revenge for silently laughing at the man during breakfast. A blackboard popped up nearby, with instructions for a potion whose name Harry couldn't pronounce and didn't want to try.

"To work, brat," Snape said, almost affectionately. Harry took a deep breath, resigning himself to a horror of a morning. He glanced at the instructions. Bobotuber pus. Oh joy.

Not twenty minutes later, he stared at his cauldron in dismay. His potion was a cheerful yellow, while the instructions clearly said it was supposed to be orange at this stage. He pursed his lips into a stubborn line. _Enough. I'm not playing his game anymore._

Pain began to creep into his chest at this rebellious thought, but for once it didn't bother Harry. He was suddenly very aware of the potions master working silently behind him. He pictured the man's angry face and cringed at the thought.

The cauldron bubbled merrily.

Harry heard a noise behind him and flinched. _Calm down,_ he told himself, angrily wondering since when the mere idea of displeasing Snape was enough to make him go hot and cold at once.

The pain intensified, and Harry leaned against the table. The Bond was pressing him to call Snape for help, as the man had instructed him to. Something Harry was still annoyed about.

Arms encircled him from behind. Harry held himself taut as the Iain receded, not wanting to look back and see Snape's anger at the botched potion.

"Calm yourself, dunderhead," Snape murmured. "Add another newt eye."

 _But the instructions say —_

"Yes, they do, that was before you decided to let the potion simmer for five minutes longer than needed after adding the slugs." Snape gave him a small push. He still hadn't released his hold on Harry; his hands were on Harry's chest.

Harry did as he was told.

"Now stir." Snape was being _gentle_. If only he was even a little like this in class, Harry thought absently, he would've surpassed even Hermione by now. "Not so violently, child—" he lifted a hand to slow Harry's own. Harry shivered when Snape's hand touched his—" _slowly_ , twice, anti-clockwise. "

"I hate the stupid shivering," Harry mumbled.

"Is that so?" Snape sounded amused. Harry had to stop himself from pouting. Snape had a way of making him feel very young at times.

The potion turned the correct shade of orange. Harry blew out a breath. His heart was racing faster than ever had before a Quidditch match. He focused on the feeling of Snape's breath on his neck to ground himself as he reached for the coriander seeds.

Snape didn't let go of him until the potion was completed, and Harry had calmed by then. A fleeting thought crossed his mind, making him smile.

Snape suddenly stepped away from him. "No, Harry, I will _not_ teach Longbottom like that." Harry burst into laughter. Snape scowled at him, but that only set him off again.

Then suddenly, the man's demeanor changed. He stood rooted in place, looking at Harry as if he had never seen him before. Even through the fit of giggles, Harry realised Snape was probably watching his eyes.

His mother's eyes.

And, miraculously, Snape's lips curved upwards.

And then Harry's vision swam as he was plunged into another memory. This one was of Harry's very first potions class.

 _"Potter!" Harry barked at the living replica of his childhood nightmare now inhabiting his classroom. "_ _What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"_

 _Lily's eyes stared out at him from under the horrendously messy bangs. Did this child have_ any _of his mother in him?_

 _But no — "I don't know, sir."_

 _Question after question, and the same answer came back; ending in a classic display of Potter disrespect._

 _Harry sneered to cover the crushing sense of disappointment that threatened to overwhelm him. She was gone, then. This child was all Potter._

Harry came out of the vision, breathing hard. He didn't dare look up at Snape; he knew the man must have seen what he had seen. He focused instead on the potion-stained desk before him.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, when the silence became unbearable.

"What?"

Harry did look at him now, determined to get this out. "I should've tried harder... If I had, I'd have answered, and..." _You'd have seen long ago that I'm not just my father._

Snape had gone pale, but now the colour returned to his face. "I... rather doubt it." He seemed to be speaking with great difficulty. "I was quite sure you were exactly like... And I was not prepared to be fair, either..."

Harry was too caught up in the revelation of this new perspective of his first potions class to notice that Snape seemed to have forgotten how to use complete sentences. _Still… if I just had read..._ He didn't know why he was taking the blame; that day hadn't been his fault at all. Only he couldn't help but wonder what it could have been like if—

"Harry James Potter, you will cease going down that road at once."

Harry blinked. Snape's hand was cupping his neck. When had Snape come so close? If it had been anyone else in Snape's place, he was quite sure he'd be mortified beyond belief... He blushed, very slightly, and then leaned into the touch.

Snape was a man of few words, he had learnt. Harry was starting to enjoy the way Snape expressed himself through touch rather than words—

Harry jerked before he could stop himself, a truly horrible thought occurring to him. His breathing quickened again, and without realising it he stumbled backwards, away from Snape.

When he looked up, Snape's face had gone an unnatural shade of green. He turned on his heel and practically fled the room. Harry followed him unthinkingly. He found the door to a bathroom open, and heard the sound of violent retching coming from within.

Harry winced, clarity hitting him like a Bludger. He waited until Snape came out of the bathroom, looking a bit unsteady on his feet.

"Sev?" Harry began, moving forward to help him, but Snape held up an imperious hand.

"No." His voice was hoarse. He leant against a wall, still looking ill.

"Severus, I'm sorry..."

"I said, no." Snape slumped against the wall, looking very unlike himself. "That you could even _imagine_ me capable of…taking _advantage_ —" He paused, seeming to wrestle nausea. "Or that I could even _think_ of you like...I am old enough to be your —" He cut himself off again, looking even more mortified, if possible.

"My father," Harry finished softly.

"Leave me," Snape ordered.

Harry stepped closer, ignoring the pain that resulted from disobedience. When he almost reached Snape, he was pushed back.

"Do my wishes mean literally nothing to you?" Snape hissed. "Leave! At once!"

Harry noted that the anger Snape showed didn't make him feel unsafe at all, not anymore. He moved closer again.

The look in Snape's eyes reminded Harry of a hunted animal. "Do not touch me." The words were pleading rather than commanding.

"Sev, I'm _sorry—_ " Harry began, distraught at seeing the man like this, but Snape wasn't listening. He had pulled himself up and squared his shoulders, and from the aggressively blank look on his face, he was Occluding. The moment of vulnerability was over. Harry knew he had to act fast or it would be too late to set this right.

He threw himself at Snape and pinned him to the wall, burying his face in Snape's neck. Snape shuddered and tried to pull away, but Harry was stronger at the moment. "I'm sorry, Sev," Harry said, pulling the man closer. "F-forgive me?" He sounded pathetic, but in this case, felt it was almost deserved.

An idea struck him, and he looked up uncertainly while thinking the word _Dad_ as loudly as he could. Snape looked down at him immediately, his eyes a little wide. _Dad_ , Harry thought, beginning to blush hard and finding it difficult to maintain the penetrating gaze. His heart thudded even louder than it usually did when he was so close to Snape.

Snape relaxed against him. Harry looked away at once when Snape's arms slowly surrounded him. He leaned against the man and closed his eyes.

It was a long while before either of them spoke.

"Well done, you insufferable nuisance, you have succeeded in reducing me to a state of meltdown when even the Dark Lord has not." It looked like Snape was fast regaining composure.

"Um, sorry?"

"You'd better be," Snape growled. He would've sounded a lot more intimidating if he didn't still look ready to topple over, Harry noticed with a pang.

 _I'll make it up to him_ , he promised himself.

* * *

Five hours later, Harry lay in bed groaning in pain. _Well, I think this makes us even_. He was thankful Snape wasn't around to hear him. The man tended to get prickly whenever Harry was in pain, and he couldn't handle that on top of his own discomfort. And yet, he knew Snape's presence did make him feel better, and—Harry was in too much pain to blush at this thought—his coddling Harry.

 _I never thought I'd think the words 'Snape' and 'coddling' in the same sentence._ A spasm shot up his arm, and he groaned again, cursing under his breath. _I wish Severus was here!_

The door to his bedroom opened and Snape stepped in. " _Language_ , Harry." He smirked when Harry glared, and continued, "Wish granted." Now Harry closed his eyes in embarrassment, and then grew serious. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better than usual, actually," Harry said, smiling a little. "Your potion's working!"

Snape didn't look very pleased. Harry wondered how the meeting with Voldemort had gone, but knew enough not to ask by now. "Not well enough, evidently; if you are still in pain enough to groan."

"I wasn't groaning! And it was just one twinge; I was honestly feeling better before!" Snape studied him, and Harry frowned.

"Anything else to report? Anything that might have been a result of the potion?"

"Um, I felt my nose getting stuffy; like I had a cold coming on, a little earlier." Snape looked shocked. "What?"

"I did have cold this morning, before I treated it; it seems the symptoms were transferred to you…" Snape trailed off, and Harry suddenly found himself being seized by his shoulders.

"Why are you doing this?" Snape said roughly, his eyes a little wild. He shook Harry a little. "Why must you take on my burdens—my pain, my sickness?"

"Why are you being kind to me after what I did to you?" Harry returned.

"That's not…" Snape began, and uncharacteristically, faltered. Harry yelped when he plucked Harry from the bed (he briefly thought it was a good thing he was in his five year old body) and held him to his chest. "Harry," the man said softly, "my burdens are the direct result of my own wrongdoings. Your mistakes are nothing in comparison to my own. You do _not_ need to suffer the consequences for my mistakes!"

Harry rested his cheek on Snape's shoulder, feeling both embarrassed and pleased. "Well, it's not like I can do anything about it, is it?"

"You're wrong." Snape seemed incapable of staying still. He walked towards a chair, sat down and took Harry's face in his hands. Harry squirmed again and looked down. "This is happening is because you believe you need to protect me from my pain." Snape captured Harry's chin and forced him to endure his intent gaze. "The moment you stop believing that, the Bond will stop at least this aspect of your punishment." He was almost pleading, Harry thought, shocked at the man's openness.

"But I don't think of it as punishment, Severus," Harry said quietly. "I think it's the least I can do."

A flash of fury on Snape's face startled Harry, but it was gone as quickly as it came. Snape sighed and leaned into Harry's neck. The hair on Harry's arms rose, but he responded in kind. "It's not your job to be my protector, my child."

Harry smiled at the epithet and boldly nuzzled into Snape. "Just returning the favour, Sev." He ignored the uneasiness he felt at way Snape stiffened under his touch and then seemed to relax by force of will.

 _I don't care if you feel guilty, Severus, I won't let you destroy this._

* * *

 **A/N: Ta-da! Which of them is correct? Snape, who's plotting to destroy their relationship; or Harry, who's determined not to? Next chapter—Snape shows Harry a few more disadvantages to being a slave. Harry is not impressed.**

 **My exams are done with, so expect updates soon!**

 **Review, _please_!**


	12. Temporary Respite

**CHAPTER 12: Temporary respite**

A/N:

Not slash, nopey nope.

For those who're getting impatient with the glacial plot movement, just wait two more chapters. Don't forget, we still have to return to the original timeline—this was a massive flashback; starting with chapter 5! And for those who like the insane level of fluff, enjoy it while it lasts!- there isn't much left…

* * *

Harry swooped down on his Firebolt, smiling like a maniac. The sun was shining bright; he was flying invisibly on the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts in the summer instead of being stuck at the Dursleys: life was good at the moment.

He looked down, knowing a black clad figure was standing on the pitch, also invisible, but watching over Harry.

It was also nice to fly without fear of punishment by either the Bond or Snape. He was in his five year old body again (flying was much more fun in a smaller, lighter body), only with his physical abilities intact. Snape had Disillusioned both of them and his broom, and insisted on watching over Harry as he flew.

"How will you be able to watch me if I'm invisible?" Harry had asked as he gulped down the potion and began shrinking. He smiled when Snape fixed his clothes size with two slashes of his wand.

"I have my ways."

"Won't Death Eaters have ways to see me, too?"

"Harry James Potter, I strongly advise you to leave me to do my job; when I need your advice I shall ask for it. Now get on that unruly, flying twig of yours before I change my mind." Harry waited for Snape to cast the Disillusionment Charm on him before rolling his eyes. Why Snape had switched from using his surname to his _full_ name, he couldn't understand. It had more of James Potter in it!

Harry executed a perfect Wronski Feint, added a few more loops for flair, and then flew down to the pitch to where he knew Snape was.

"Sev?" He whispered cautiously, before tripping right over the man's leg and tumbling to the ground.

"On display: Gracefulness of the youngest Seeker of the century," said a sardonic, disembodied voice a little away from him.

Harry sniffed, opening his mouth to retort, and then stopped, tilting his head towards where the sound had come from. "Severus? Are you _lying_ on the ground?"

The Disillusionment Charm lifted, and Harry saw that he was right. "Close your mouth, Potter," Snape said mildly. "Yes, I am relaxing in the sun. I am human. Oh the horror."

Harry couldn't reply from the pain that had just clamped around his head like a vice. Realising it was because he was lying on the same level as Snape without any physical contact, he dragged himself towards the man. Snape helped him at first, then went still when he realised what Harry was doing, and at last shoved at him once he had settled.

"Harry, you may not use me for a pillow."

Harry yawned and dug his nose into Snape's stomach. "Why not? I've been doing it for a while now." He was feeling tired, so he closed his eyes, not waiting for a reply. "Why did you lift the Charm? Aren't we still in danger of being seen?"

Snape had apparently given up trying to push him off. "Your demented devotee is taking care of it."

Harry frowned, and decided he meant Dobby.

Snape was still talking, and he didn't sound very happy. "I should have locked you up for your behaviour these past few days. Flying without permission or protection, drinking yourself into oblivion*..."

"Hey, the Cruciatus is a little difficult to handle without you close by, okay?" Harry suddenly realised he hadn't meant to reveal that. "I-I mean..."

"I know exactly what you mean." Snape's fingers began carding through his hair. He sighed. "But drinking was not wise." He smartly tapped Harry's nose when he began grumbling. "Quiet, brat."

"I'm not a brat! And _you're_ acting silly and drunk!" He shut his mouth with a click of his teeth, wondering why he always had to say the wrong things. Not that he thought he was wrong; Snape had a relaxed look on his face that just looked wrong, though surprisingly pleasant.

Snape did not disappoint. "Watch your cheek, Potter," he growled, the half-smile gone from his lips.

Well, it was true, Harry thought rebelliously.

"I know it's true," Snape said, and Harry choked on air.

"What!"

"I know I sound drunk," Snape said with a sneer. "In fact, I _feel_ drunk. Your mind has that effect on mine."

"Oh," Harry said in a small, shocked voice. "Sorry."

Snape didn't reply. Harry would have worried if it weren't for the fingers entangling themselves deeper in his hair. Snape pulled Harry closer, and when he finally spoke, his voice was very soft. "You should've been mine."

Harry looked up at him in surprise. _Where did that come from?_ Snape simply looked back at him, and Harry smiled. The sun suddenly seemed brighter. "I think I'd have liked that."

Snape speared him with another intent glance, and then seemed to relax. "You wouldn't have turned out this well if you were my son," he said, too casually.

Harry couldn't believe his ears. Where was the proud Slytherin who never admitted weakness? "You're far better than the Dursleys!"

"Am I?" Snape's voice still had that oddly light quality; as if his thoughts were far away.

Harry took a deep breath and reminded himself he was a Gryffindor who had faced down Voldemort several times. "Can't I be yours now, still?"

Snape immediately snapped to attention. "What?" he said sharply.

Harry wondered if there was a spell to stop one's own blushing. "Well, the Weasleys aren't my blood relations, but they're like family to me. Can't we be family too?" Harry looked at Snape pleadingly. "What's going to happen when school starts? We can't go on like this in public, can we?"

Snape was silent for so long Harry thought he wouldn't answer. "We won't have to," he said finally. "The headmaster is confident he'll have a solution by then; a way to break the Bond."

Harry gaped. While only a few days ago this might have been welcome news, now...

"You don't seem pleased," Snape observed flatly.

Harry buried his nose in Snape's chest again. "I'm pleased I won't have to impose on you anymore."

"But?"

"Is everything going to go back to the way it was?"

Snape exhaled. "Harry. Believe me, that's how you'll want it to be, once the Bond is broken."

"I don't believe that!" Harry said hotly, starting to get up. "I won't let it happen!"

Snape's reply was to pull Harry down and carefully rolled over so Harry was now half under him, holding him so tightly Harry couldn't move anymore. "We shall see," he said quietly. His cool breath fell on Harry's ear.

Harry ignored him, taking comfort from the embrace instead. If there was one thing he had learnt from this whole experience, it was that Snape's actions counted more than his words. And at the moment, the man was holding him as though he never wanted to let go. Harry was content... for now.

* * *

He was in a dark room. He looked around, and recognised it as Snape's office. There was even a Penseive on the table, full of shimmering threads of thought. He looked away, feeling very uneasy. Where was Snape?

"So, Mr Potter." Ah, there he was. The man emerged from the shadows, stalking towards Harry. "You think of me as a father now?" A horrible smile stretched his lips, revealing yellowed teeth. " Such sentimentality. Why in Merlin's anme would I wish to plague myself with Potter's son?"

Harry took a step back without meaning to. This wasn't the amn he had come to know and… dare he think it?... _love_ , as almost like a _father_. This was Professor Snape, ex-Death Eater, spy, and Harry's tormentor for years. And after knowing the other side of him, seeing him back to the old nature _hurt_. Badly.

"Stop," he said, and was ashamed to hear his voice tremble.

"You will never be more to me than a copy of your worthless father, with nothing in you of your mother's."

"That's not true! You _said_ I wasn't like that, Severus!"

"How dare you," Snpe's face twisted, turning an ugly red. "You will address your teacher and Master with respect!"

It was getting difficult to breathe with every word that came out of the man's mouth. "But—"

"Do not question me," Snape hissed, wand now in his hand. "Kneel! Apologise!"

Horror and betrayal paralysing him, Harry began to kneel. He wished the ground his knees were about to touc would swallow him up. 

Harry snapped awake, breathing hard. He shut his eyes tight, trying to erase the image of a scornful Snape rejecting him, all the while knowing it wouldn't work. The image was permanently burned into his eyelids. His mouth felt dry, but he felt too tired to get a glass of water. That had been a regular nightmare, not a memory, but still no less disturbing. His hands automatically reached for Snape, but closed on air. He opened his eyes.

Snape wasn't there beside him.

Harry got up at once, chest pounding. Was Snape with Voldemort? But no, Harry would've felt the summons. Pushing aside his irrational panic, he struggled into a robe ( Snape had threatened him with dire consequences if he wandered around in the cold without warm clothing) and rushed out of the bedroom. He stopped dead when he came to the sofa.

Snape was lying on it, asleep. Well, almost. He seemed to be in the middle of a nightmare too, judging from the twisting and murmuring he was doing.

"Harry," Snape called, and Harry started. Snape sounded _scared_. "Pleas…lemme…'splain," he went on, "Don't leave."

Harry's chest tightened, and he almost went back to the bedroom, feeling guilty at what he had just witnessed. Snape would be furious. He took a panicked step back when Snape's eyelids fluttered.

"Harry," Snape pleaded.

That decided Harry. _Snape was right, it is convenient to be pint-sized_ , he thought ruefully, and climbed up on the sofa.

" _Accio_ blanket!" Harry whispered, and then spread the blanket over them both. Snape had stilled as soon as Harry had climbed up beside him. Now he let out a squeak of surprise when Snape's arms encircled him and pulled him close.

"Mm," Snape said in his sleep, sounding contented.

Harry grinned and closed his eyes.

..

Harry watched as Snape opened his eyes and looked down at him. It really was amazing how the man could go from fast asleep to wide awake in a matter of seconds. Snape stared at Harry for a second, then shut his eyes and groaned.

Harry suppressed at a grin at the man's dismay. "Well, at least it worked," he said cheerfully. "You didn't have any nightmares after I came yesterday night."

"After you _snuck in_ yesterday night." Snape's eyes were still closed, and Harry noticed he hadn't removed his arms from around Harry's miniature body.

"I got up for a glass of water and I saw you, um, thrashing in your sleep. Why did you come to the sofa in the middle of the night?"

Snape's lip curled. "To wrestle with guilt," he drawled, "not that it's any of your business, you impertinent brat."

"Guilt?" Harry repeated, but quieted at Snape's warning glance. Even the admission was a rare thing for Snape, and he'd take what he got.

"I see silencing charms are in order considering your continuing lack of regard for privacy."

"Hey!" Harry scowled. "I just wanted to help! You help me when I have nightmares; why can't I help you—"

Snape suddenly sat up, pulling his arms out from under Harry. "Because _I_ am the adult here, and _I_ am responsible for your well-being; _not_ the other way around."

"I'm not a child, Severus. And I care about y—" Harry stopped when Snape grimaced and stormed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Harry slowly got out of bed, resisting the urge to yell at Snape through the door. He had first felt a twinge of gult for hiding what he had heard Snape say in his sleep last night, but now he was certain the man would blow up if he told him.

Something was wrong, Harry was sure of it. He might have ignored the sudden flashes of sadness on Snape's face sometimes. Or the way the man sometimes hugged him as if he were afraid of losing Harry any minute. Once, Harry had worked up the courage to ask him why. Snape had looked away.

"Physical contact exponentially increases the influx from your mind," Snape had said. At Harry's blank stare, he had smirked. "That means you get very excited when you're held, and I can feel it. It is…not unpleasant, but overwhelming and sometimes distracting."

"Well, why didn't you just say so?" Harry had known he was almost pouting, but it was worth it to see Severus Snape's eyes twinkle enough to rival Dumbledore, and his body shake with suppressed laughter. Harry had stared in delight.

In many ways, having Harry's emotions inside his head seemed to have knocked Snape completely off balance. Harry didn't know whether to feel pleased or guilty about that. Of course, it was possible that he hadn't known the real Snape before at all and that this was just a side of him that Harry hadn't known existed; though he doubted it.

But now, Snape had become distant. It was like invisible but very real walls separating the two of them when they were in the same room. These episodes never lasted long, but they were getting frequent enough that it was starting to bother him. He had tried subtle probing, to no good.

The direct approach, then. "Severus? What's wrong?"

It was immediately after breakfast. Harry had barely eaten because of nerves. Snape, who was reading a potions journal, barely glanced at him. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't say that; you know it isn't true. Is it…V— _him_? Or something to do with your work there?"

Snape's eyes snapped up, and the fury in them took Harry by surprise. "And since when do you consider yourself entitled to know everything that goes on in my mind?"

Harry was shocked. "That's not—"

"Oh? Isn't it?" Snape's tone was mockingly earnest, and then it turned vicious again. "Then perhaps you need to be cured of the moronic notion that the great Harry Potter can solve everything, can shoulder any burden, including those of the others around him. Leave well enough alone, Potter, I have put up with enough from you without having you play mind healer as well."

"Okay." Harry was surprised at the steadiness of his own voice. He turned to leave, but there was no stopping his thoughts. _I understand perfectly; I'm nothing to you except your_ slave _, and I should mind my place. Got it._

"Harry—"

Harry shut the door behind him and promptly doubled over in pain. The door flew open and Snape yanked him forward.

"I believe there was a rule about losing your temper at me and then running away so I cannot help you with the pain."

Harry didn't reply. He wasn't returning Snape's hug.

"Four hundred lines, Harry." Snape waited for a few moments, and then said, "I… didn't mean any of that."

 _Then why'd you say it?_

Snape seemed to struggle for words. "I am a... weak man, Harry; I lash out at those…precious to me when I really need to turn to them for comfort. You saw it already, in the Pensieve." Harry buried his face in Snape's shoulder and brought up his arms to surround the man, feeling embarrassed and pleased. Snape spoke almost tenderly now. "I know how you feel about me. I know you wish for a father. No, child," he took Harry's blushing face in his hands to stop his squirming. "Listen. You have chosen the worst possible candidate for that role. You know that."

"No, I don't know that," Harry forced himself to speak around his tight throat. He owed Snape that much after his honesty. "Severus, I—I…"

"You love me," Snape said, looking impossibly sad and sorry. "Harry, _it's all a lie._ The Bond has made you believe that. You have forgiven me things that are impossible for anyone to forgive, and you continue to overlook my treatment of you as though it were nothing. I could go on. You still don't believe me?"

"I do believe you. I believe everything you've done all these days is real!"

Snape gave him a gentle shake. "Once the Bond is broken, everything will be back to normal- you will be restored to the pleasure of all your former dislike of me."

"No, I _won't!_ I won't let that happen! I _know_ things about you now, it's not just the Bond that makes me want you! "

Snape winced as though in pain. He gently, but firmly, disentangled Harry's arms from around his neck. "I shall have to prove it to you, then."

"What do you feel for me, then?" Harry felt as though he really were five years old, outright asking for reassurance. "I know you can't still hate me."

"I wouldn't be so sure, child."

Harry shook his head. "It's no use, Severus. It's too late to turn back now. I don't _want_ to turn back now."

"You will."

With that ominous prediction, Snape was gone.

* * *

Harry landed on the ground with a hard bump. He gritted his teeth against a groan.

"On your feet," Snape said coldly.

Harry obeyed, still grinding his teeth, now in anger. Defence lessons had started weeks ago, but Snape had been acting like this for only a few days now. Harry had tried speaking to him, but to no avail—the man seemed determined to remain distant. " _Protego_!" Harry gasped just in time as Snape silently sent a blasting curse at him. The shield protected him, but then Snape sent three more spells that Harry didn't recognise, in quick succession and _through_ the shield.

This time he did groan when he smashed against the wall. He crumpled to the ground and found he couldn't get up. Snape muttered another spell, and Harry cringed, only to find a vial of potion popping into existence before him. He gulped down the healing agent gratefully.

"Up," Snape commanded.

Harry stayed where he was. "No." Snape's eyes narrowed. "Stop this, Severus. I love Defense, but I'm human, not a practise dummy."

"You are in no position to advise me." Pain had begun washing over Harry, but then the cloud descended over his mind. When it lifted, Harry found himself on his feet.

"Stop it!" he cried. "You can't do this, you don't have the right!"

"This is your punishment," Snape began, but Harry interrupted.

"My punishment was unfair, and you know that! Stop bringing it up over and over!"

"Just as I thought," Snape said, and the old sneer was back on his face. "Potter's son indeed. You feel no regret for your mistakes, then? You feel you deserve no punishment for them?"

"I don't think I deserve to be a slave, no!" Harry shouted. "And if we're talking about mistakes, what about your punishment for _getting my parents killed_ —" Harry stopped. Snape had gone paler than ever, and actually swayed on his feet. His own fury ebbing, Harry looked down, feeling a twinge of shame for bringing up the subject after the man had already apologised…But no. Harry looked up again, squaring his shoulders. Snape had brought up past mistakes first, and Harry had apologised, too.

"Do you have any idea," Snape hissed, "what you did when you broke into my mind? Do you realise that you have morally bound me to allow you to invade my privacy, my life and my freedom?"

Harry stared at him, suddenly feeling sick. Snape's lip curled.

"Yes, Potter," he said. "You have not been living the life of a slave, have you? Ever since we…came to an agreement, it's been the other way around; I have given up my freedoms for your comfort. _Do not_ speak to me of _punishment_."

Harry opened his mouth, but couldn't find anything to say.

"Go to your room. I have had my fill of your ungratefulness for one day."

Something snapped inside Harry. "Oh, you have, have you?" he said. "Has it occurred to you that _you're_ the one who started this?" Harry gestured violently between them. "You're the one who's targeted me since the day I set foot in Hogwarts, _you're_ the one who made my Potions classes a hell ever since; and don't tell me it was all an act for Voldemort! You were simply being a bully, yeah, a _bully_ like my father, and _you_ were the _arrogant_ one you always accused me of being!"

" _Potter_!" Snape shouted. His eyes were wide and wild.

Harry matched his tone. " _You_ made it so I couldn't trust you, _you're_ the reason I suspected Sirius' murder wasn't just Bellatrix's doing, _you're_ the reason I broke into your mind!" he shouted back. "And _you— deserve— it_ , Snape."

There was dead silence for a moment. Snape's wand hand twitched as though he was dying to curse Harry. The sight spurred Harry on. He knew he was getting to Snape.

"I don't deserve the Bond, Snape. I see your memories; you get to see mine in return—that's fair. Slavery makes no sense!"

"Oh?" Snape said very softly, stalking towards Harry. A trickle of unease went up Harry's spine. "You believe the memories of fifteen of your pathetic years are equal to thirty-five years of my memories?"

All of Snape's memories that Harry had seen so far came rushing back. _James Potter's torment. Joining the Dark Lord, staring in horrified fascination at the brand of honour on his forearm. Carrying the Prophecy to Lily's future murderer. Changing sides. Not truly belonging on either side. Still enduring torment at his old master's hand, and bowing to the monster_

"No," Harry said, breathing hard. "But your hard life didn't give you the right to mistreat me, and my mistake doesn't give you the right to treat me like a slave either!" He glared at the black eyes boring into him. "In fact, if slavery was the way to repay old debts, then I wouldn't be your slave, it'd be the other way around!"

The silence drew out, and slowly, Snape's face blanked of emotion. He turned away. "Dismissed," he said coldly, his back to Harry.

Harry stood where he was, half-shocked at the return to master-and-slave roles.

" _Dismissed_ , Potter."

' _Potter' over and over. Haven't heard that in a while._ Feeling numb, Harry began to kneel, expecting Snape to turn around and stop him. Nothing happened. Snape remained with his back turned.

Harry gasped as a new sensation overtook him, something like a darkness over his mind, like when he went near the Dementors. "Severus," he said, "what are you doing?"

"Occluding," Snape said. His voice was still cold. "Properly, this time. I have no wish to be inside your mind at all, at the moment, just to feel you moping."

The insult barely registered with Harry. "Yes, well, I don't think the Bond approves," Harry croaked.

"I don't care, Potter."

"Severus," Harry tried again, "you're _hurting_ me."

"You are not in pain. I would know."

"Not physical pain, no, but—Severus?" Harry watched in disbelief as Snape left the room with not so much as a glance at him.

Now a lump rising in his throat, he left for his room. Once there, he threw his mind back to the Occlumency lessons. _Snape doesn't want me in his mind? I can arrange that._ Gathering every last scrap of strength he had, he began Occluding as fiercely as he could. When that was done, he just managed to tumble into bed and crawl under the covers. Pulling them over his head, he miserably thought how strange it felt to be sleeping alone after just a few weeks of being coddled.

He lay awake for some time hoping Snape would come, but oblivion overtook him without warning. The last thought on his mind before he lost consciousness was whether Snape would care that he had missed dinner.

..

 **A/N:**

 **My first cliffhanger? Is it? I don't remember.**

 ***For those who don't remember what this is about, it's from Harry's flashbacks at the start of the story. I'm not going to rehash those again, that would be** _ **(yawn)**_ **boring.**

 **Thanks again for all the reviews (really missed those) and favs and follows!**

 **Please, leave a review?**


	13. Stockholm Syndrome

**C** **HAPTER 13: Stockholm Syndrome**

A/N: Okay, this chapter isn't very important, except the last paragraph. Read that and skip on to the next if you like; I know I've been dragging the plot quite a bit. I don't feel very satisfied with it either.

Yeah, more fluff, and I'm tired of insisting it's not meant as slash. Even if people (men—silly things) don't interact like this in real life, I wish they would, and this is fanfic, after all. My choice, and I do hope you enjoy it, regardless.

* * *

"Harry. _Harry_. Harry! Harry, _wake up_!"

Who is that and why do they sound so panicked, Harry thought muzzily, and then, _ow_. Ow, ow, ow!

"Harry, WAKE UP!"

"Hnh? Oh, 's you," Harry said, finally recognising the potions master.

"Yes, it's me," Snape drawled, but it sounded far too tense to be properly sarcastic. "WHAT are you DOING?"

"Not…so loud," Harry begged. His head felt like Hagrid was banging at it with a hammer. "I'm…Occluding."

" _What_?"

"I'm _Occluding_!" Harry wanted to shout, but it came out much softer when his throat protested. "You wanted me out of our head, didn't you? Well, now you won't need to hear everything I think!"

Snape was quiet for a long moment. Harry fidgeted, and then found it hurt to do so. He experimentally lifted a finger. _Ouch. Stupid Bond!_ Then Snape's face materialised next to Harry's. Harry yelped in surprise, and then groaned when it hurt _everywhere_. Snape was kneeling next to his bed. It made Harry nervous. He tried looking away, but then the silky voice spoke again, very soft. "But you're hurting, child."

Blast the man. Now Harry's throat closed. _I notice he didn't deny that he wants me out of his mind._ "Don't pretend you care about that," Harry said through gritted teeth. "You left me to suffer yesterday night and you didn't come—" He stopped, realising he sounded pathetic. The bed moved slightly, and Harry sensed rather than saw Snape sit down. This time he turned away, determined not to meet the man's eyes. Snape's hand came down on his shoulder, and he tensed. "Get your hands off me!" he said, feeling himself beginning to weaken at the simple touch. Even the pain seemed to be leeching away.

"Stop Occluding, Harry," Snape countered. His hand moved slowly towards Harry's neck.

"Stop taking advantage of my situation! I said _get your hands off me_!" Harry began to move, but a wave of nausea and pain put an end to that immediately.

"You'll kill yourself if you go on like this, Harry," Snape said quietly. "The earliest agreement in the Bond was my access to your mind—if you try and stop that, the Bond _will kill you_. Slowly and painfully."

Harry ignored him.

The mattress shifted again, and then cold air hit Harry's skin. Harry turned in alarm to find that Snape was lying next to him. "That's _it_ ," he declared, and began to get up, but Snape pulled him back down. Harry landed back on the bed wit another groan of pain, and found himself held to Snape's chest. He went involuntarily still, giving Snape the opportunity to pull him close and put his lips to Harry's ear.

"Stop Occluding," Snape ordered, and then kissed his temple. Harry moaned; half in protest and half in relief as the pain began rapidly receding.

"N-no."

" _Harry_."

And just like that, Harry's shields crumbled. He heard Snape's sharp intake of breath. _Probably my mind stampeding into his._

"Indeed," Snape said, sounding a bit dazed.

Harry pushed weakly at him. "You got what you wanted, now leave me alone."

"I don't think that's wise," Snape said softly, "considering you literally cannot survive without me at your side." He leaned over him again, making Harry's heart illogically skip and thunder by turns.

"I _hate_ you," Harry snarled. "I'm not your pet, or your toy! You can't just treat me like a _son_ one day and a _slave_ the next… I don't understand you." He ended in a whisper. "What do you _want_ from me?"

Snape muttered something about not understanding himself either.

"You know, Muggles have a word for this kind of thing. Stockholm something—"

"Stockholm Syndrome," Snape murmured. "A victim getting attached to his tormentor."

"Oh, you know about it? Did you feel that way with Voldemort?"

It was Snape's turn to go stiff, and it made Harry tense too. Then Snape's hand came up to hold Harry's cheek as gently as if it were a baby bird. "I am not your tormen—I swear, Harry, I did not know you were in pain. I couldn't feel anything across the Bond, I couldn't sense you yesterday night."

Harry didn't reply.

Snape sighed. "You are still attached to me, then." Harry wondered if that was a statement or a question, and then decided he didn't want to know. "Dumbledore was right about your capacity for forgiveness."

Harry didn't reply.

"If you're expecting an apology, Harry, you won't get one. I did what I did because I needed to be sure you wanted this… That I am justified in…" He trailed off when Harry gave him a very old fashioned look. Snape sighed, resting his forehead against Harry's. "Then sleep, child. You need rest."

"Don't call me that, _Professor_ ," Harry said, but knew it sounded weak.

Snape only kissed his forehead, ran his fingers through Harry's hair, pretended not to hear Harry's whine of relief, and then left the room. Feeding?

 _Well, that confirms it_ , Severus thought, shutting the door to the boy's room. _I was absolutely right to lie to him. This is what would have happened if I had kept him at arm's distance—torture for the boy, and in effect for me as well._

Though being distant with the boy was a very difficult thing to do, he mused as he tidied up the boy's mess on the table—there were rolls of parchment and books scattered all over the place. The boy was as clingy as a barnacle, and persistent as a lost puppy. With the Bond in effect, it would take the Dark Lord himself to keep Harry Potter at arm's length. _I certainly do not have the strength to do so._ He grimaced in disgust. _After all that shouting at Potter about weakness and emotion in Occlumency lessons._

The boy had been studying Bonding Theory so hard Hermione Granger herself would have been left in the dust. What he was hoping to achieve, Severus didn't know—it wasn't as if either of them could hope to find something Dumbledore hadn't. Still, he could understand the need to know everything possible about a spell that had enslaved a person. And Severus hadn't found the heart to refuse, even though he knew that playing with knowledge beyond him was what had landed both Potter and him in this mess in the first place.

 _I'm going soft,_ he thought in disbelief, crumpling a parchment in his fist without thinking about it. _It really has to stop, this farce; it's taking over my mind!_

He summoned a house-elf more loudly than necessary and asked for food. _The brat needs to eat or he'll drop from exhaustion._ A corner of the boy's messy notes caught his eye.

'Most Slave Bonds allow the Master to draw energy from the Slave into himself; thus strengthening the Master and weakening the Slave.' Severus completed the paragraph in his mind; he knew it by heart now, he had read the book so many times. 'This arrangement has killed the slave very often in ancient times when the Master took more than the Slave had to give. It also saved the Master's life, often at the cost of the slave's, depending on the Master's wish.'

Severus' heart constricted, and he hastily shifted his eyes to another roll of parchment. Potter had been very busy; this section was about the types of Bonds.

'There are four broad categories of Slave Bonds, with different purposes: one, for payment, made with both parties' consent; two, voluntarily; three, as punishment; four, by force. The last is a Dark Bond, the others are not always so. In fact, they were created in ancient times with honourable and laudable intentions…'

Severus slammed the parchment down, cursing when he hit his hand painfully on the edge of the table. He did not want to read about how good the Bond could be. Though judging from the underlining under this portion of the parchment, Potter had shown a great deal of interest in the subject.

 _It doesn't matter,_ he told himself. _This ends soon, whether Potter likes it or not._ In the meantime, there were a few more things he needed to do, with and for the boy…

Harry sat on Snape's bed in his nightclothes and drank from the vial Snape handed to him. His clothes now shrank along with him—a rather impressive spell Severus had taught him. Harry smiled when Snape took the vial from him and set it on a tray on the bedside table. Sometimes he thought Snape forgot Harry wasn't really a five year old, what with his constant mothering.

"Harry," Severus drawled, "I strongly recommend you at least _try_ to Occlude before you continue thinking along those lines while I can hear your thoughts."

"Oh, come on!" Harry said, offended on several levels, and very pleased that Snape was in a good enouh mood to tease him. The last day had been very tense, full of awkward silences and brooding. Harry was tired of it all, and very eager for it to end. "I can Occlude if I want to, it's just that it's awfully difficult with the Bond! And anyway, you can't tell me what to think."

It was a testament to everything that had happened over the last few weeks that Snape only smirked down at him, his gaze amused and warm instead of flinty. "Perhaps not, but I _may_ turn your duelling lessons tomorrow into something particularly embarrassing." Snape opened his arms as he rested his head on the pillow, and Harry crawled into them.

"You embarrass me all the time anyway." Harry was doing his best not to sulk, but there were only so many times he could be crushed in a duel without feeling the slightest bit inadequate.

Snape's chest shook under Harry's head in sync with the man's quiet laughter. "I assure you, it can get worse," he said silkily. Now Harry flat-out pouted. "None of that," Snape said, tapping his lip. "Or I'll begin grilling you about the Dursleys."

Harry groaned. "No, you're gonna do it no matter what I do." Snape smiled again, but grew serious again as he always did while discussing the Dursleys. For some reason, the man had grown obsessed with knowing about their treatment of Harry. And he had figured out that the best time to get anything out of Harry was at night, in the dark, while practically cuddling his pint-sized form.

"Why do you want to know? What does it matter?" Harry had asked. "It's not like anyone can do anything."

"I want to know how much I misjudged your upbringing," had been the reply one time. Another time, Snape had muttered something about knowing exactly what he'd condemned Harry to. "And I assure you, there are punishments I can hand out to them without giving away my identity."

Harry was snapped back into reality by the touch of Snape's lips on his forehead. "What is it, child?" Harry's throat tightened at the tenderness in Snape's voice. Sometimes he felt like a fool for enjoying all this so very much—the parody of parental care and love—because there was no way Snape could ever look at him that way, was there?

"Harry." He shifted in sudden distress. Snape had heard that thought.

"Severus, please." _Please get out of my head, or at least pretend you didn't hear what you just heard._

"I cannot stay out of your mind, Harry," Snape whispered into Harry's ear. Harry shivered. "But I can postpone that difficult conversation if you tell me what I want to know about the Dursleys. No, don't push me away. I _know_ you want to tell me, no matter how embarrassing you think it is, and even though you haven't told your best friends."

Harry made a distressed sound. "Promise me you won't—you won't ever—"

"Use it against you? I swear," Snape said as solemnly as a judge, and then spoiled the effect by pulling him closer. Harry let out a mew when Snape's teeth grazed his ear. The gesture was strangely comforting, and he knew Snape knew it. "I am not trying to hurt you," Snape murmured. "You must believe me."

Should he be repulsed? Was this normal, even for... (dare he think it?) fathers with their teenaged sons? He didn't know. All he knew was that he didn't want it to stop. He'd do anything to make sure Snape didn't stop. Even talk about the Dursleys— about whom he'd never revealed this much to anyone, not even Ron and Hermione.

"They... they call me freak. Made me live in a cupboard till I got my Hogwarts letter. They told me my parents died in a car crash."

Snape's arms tightened around him. His fingers stroked Harry's neck and back.

Don't stop, Harry wanted to plead.

"All right," Snape murmured, startling him. Of course — Harry rolled his eyes, wondering when he'd get used to this— Snape could hear Harry even if he didn't speak. It was sometimes convenient, actually. "Did they physically harm you?"

"Not much, though I learnt to stay out of Uncle Vernon's way when he's angry."

Surprisingly, it didn't feel horrible talking about this. It rather felt like his fourth year, when after returning from the graveyard, Dumbledore had made him repeat everything he'd seen. It had actually made him feel better, like poison being drawn out of a wound...He pushed his face into Snape's chest.

He felt so very small, especially with his regressed body, cocooned in Snape's embrace. He knew, in some corner of his mind, that he was acting very childish, but he was past caring. "It's not fair." He finally voiced the complaint that had been growing in his mind ever since he'd gotten here. "The spell isn't fair, the _Bond_ isn't fair!"

He expected Snape to get angry, or refute that, so it startled him badly when he cupped Harry's cheek instead—so gently be might have been holding a baby bird.

"I know, Harry," he said simply. "You'll be rewarded for your trust tomorrow."

"Um…why are we on a cliff, Severus?"

Snape had apparated both of the here a minute before. Dobby was with them too, to keep them hidden from prying eyes—a complicated elvish magic that Harry couldn't make head or tail of. Harry had watched the foaming sea at the bottom of the cliff, delighting in the height and the wind and the spray until Snape shouted at him to get away from the edge before he fell over. Now he stood with his back to the cliff, watching Snape wave his wand in a dozen different patterns.

"This," Snape said, tucking his wand away and reaching Harry in two long strides, "is your reward." He pushed Harry backwards towards the cliff, keeping his arms around Harry the whole time and blocking his way away from the edge.

"Wait— what are you doing?"

"Do you trust me, Harry?"

Harry glanced at the foaming sea behind him and then back up at Snape's strangely excited face. "Severus..."

"No. My real name. Say it."

"Uh...Sev?"

"That was your mother's name for me, not yours."

Harry paled. Snape brought his mouth to Harry's ear.

"Sev," Harry groaned. "No fair!" Snape _knew_ he could get Harry to do practically anything like this!

" _Say it_ , Harry."

Harry moved closer to Snape. "D-Dad?"he whispered.

Snape kissed Harry's temple. Harry shivered.

"Again," Snape commanded.

"Dad." This time, he managed to make it louder than a whisper, but his voice trembled. Snape kissed his jaw this time. Harry melted against the older man, wishing he could shout for sheer joy, but feeling too breathless for it.

"I... trust you," he said.

Snape held up a familiar vial. Harry looked at it unhappily. "You will need this."

Harry had begun to get over his dislike being shrunk. He'd even asked for the potion more than once, but those had been special occasions.

"I promise you it will be worth it, Harry."

Harry looked away from the vial to gaze at the man holding it, and wondered since when Snape's eyes had stopped feeling like endless tunnels to him. He took the vial and drained it, not missing Snape's pleased look as he lifted Harry up into his arms. He murmured something in Latin that Harry didn't understand and was too preoccupied to try. Something that felt like rope tightened around his torso, jerking him against Snape. In retrospect, he thought it should have been very clear what Snape had been about to do.

"Hold on— as tight as you can," Snape said in his ear. Then he pushed them off the cliff.

Harry let out a high yelp as his stomach climbed into his throat, and then clung to Snape as though that would do any good. The wind whistled in his hair. Snape laughed. _Laughed!_ Harry cautiously opened his eyes to find himself looking into Snape's. "For the youngest Seeker of the century, you don't seem very comfortable with flying," Snape said, his eyes still smiling down at Harry.

"What..." Harry began, confused, and then stopped as he looked down and about. The sea stretched out behind and around them, glistening bright blue. Over Snape's shoulder, he could see the cliff they had been standing on. "We're... flying," he said.

"How observant you are, child," Snape said. Harry's stomach did a flip at the tenderness in his voice that contrasted with the sarcastic words.

"Shouldn't you be holding me properly instead of playing with my hair?" he replied cheekily.

Snape pulled Harry closer so his head was resting on the man's shoulder. Then he whispered something very quickly. Harry realised too late that it was a spell. He flew high up in the air, shrieking in fear and joy, and then floated slowly back to Snape, who grabbed him tight immediately.

"Dad..." Should he be worried at how easily the name fell from his own lips?

"And don't you forget it," Snape murmured. "You are safe with me— even when I appear less than alert or, Merlin forbid, _playful_."

The wind blew at them in a powerful gust. Harry breathed in the salty air, feeling on top of the world and knowing Snape knew exactly how he felt. He could actually feel Snape's presence in his mind now, like a powerful and intimate mental equivalent of the hug they were now sharing. He shivered at the mental touch, and then smiled into Snape's shoulder. "I know," he said.

It was late in the evening when they reached Hogwarts. Harry was tired out, but happy. Snape had his half-smile on his lips as he looked at Harry.

They had just settled back in Snape's quarters when the Floo activated. "My boys," Dumbledore's head said, poking out of the fireplace. Harry smiled—Snape was scowling at being grouped with Harry as a boy. "The solution to the Bond is within our grasp now."


	14. The Blood Bond

**CHAPTER 14**

A/N: Making up for lost time.

* * *

Snape had a very worrying blankness on his face as they walked up to Dumbledore's office together.

"This is not so much breaking a Bond as creating one that supersedes the previous one," Dumbledore said. Harry and Severus stood before him, side by side. "This is a blood bond, one used to adopt someone into a family—"

Harry shot Snape a look before he could help it, but Snape merely looked straight ahead and did not meet his eyes.

"—here, it will serve the purpose of breaking the Slave Bond. A Blood Bond will break a Slave Bond, because no Light magic allows a family member to be a slave."

"Wait," Harry blurted. "If we do this, then we'll be family?" He looked at Snape again, but he still wasn't looking at Harry.

A faint sadness showed on Dumbledore's face for a second. "No, my boy," he said. "For magical purposes, in very rare cases, you may be regarded as family, but only if you wish it to be so. Actual adoption requires several other spells."

Snape still wasn't looking at Harry, and it was both annoying and unnerving.

Dumbledore held out a hand to Snape, and Snape responded by doing the same. Dumbledore waved his wand, and a small incision appeared on Snape's hand. Snape might have been made of marble for all the reaction he showed, but the sight still unnerved Harry—Dumbledore making Snape bleed. Dumbledore repeated the process with Harry, who readily went along, feeling no similar qualms.

"You must join hands," Dumbledore said. "Like a handshake, Harry," he added, eyes twinkling a little at Harry's slightly panicked look. Snape lifted his right hand at the same time Harry did, and they each touched their blood-slicked palms to the other's.

Dumbledore lifted his wand again and began chanting.

Harry looked down at their joined hands with the magic pulsing over them, and was suddenly terrified. He looked back up at Snape, and the man must have seen his desperation or shared it, because he gripped Harry's arm with his left hand and pulled Harry a little closer. Harry felt his panic mount. Snape looked like he felt. He was looking at Harry as though trying to memorise his face…as though they were going to lose each other very soon.

"Severus," he began, but didn't know how to continue. Was Snape right about the breaking of the Bond? Would it change how they felt about each other? He cast his mind back to Snape's silences whenever Harry asserted that it would never change how he felt about Snape.

The glowing strand between them suddenly broke. Snape staggered as if he'd been punched in the stomach.

Harry felt a burden lift from his shoulders, along with a surge of euphoria. It was as if he'd been under an Imperius, and the cloud on his mind had suddenly lifted when the curse was broken. He looked at Snape's face, which was now lined with weariness from the breaking of the Bond, and had to quell a sudden urge to step back. The glow of magic had faded, and there was silence in the room. Harry looked down at their hands, and then back at Snape, struggling to remember everything that had happened since he came to Hogwarts in the middle of summer.

The deeply private memories that they had shared. Snape smiling hesitantly at him, as though he didn't quite know how to do it. Snape wiping away Harry's tears with gentle fingers. Snape's hands in Harry's hair, his arms around Harry, and his lips on Harry's ear.

It was surprisingly difficult. The old resentful memories came rushing back with new force, as though they had been suppressed—

The smirk on Snape's face as he broke Harry's vial of perfectly made potion, and marked him with a zero. Insulting him in class, in public, and in private. Gleefully taking advantage of the Bond at the beginning—making Harry kneel and apologise, making him slave like a house-elf for hours on end.

How could he have forgotten—or disregarded all that? Had Snape been right—had his judgement been knocked off kilter by the Bond's manipulation?

 _No!_ Harry scowled fiercely, trying to master himself. _I can't just forget. Severus is my friend now. He's like a father to me now—_

Snape was looking back at him. Harry thought he saw a flash of the old sneer on his face, before it disappeared and was replaced by the same eerie blankness from before.

"Headmaster, please excuse us," Snape said. "We need time to adjust to the change."

Harry had almost forgotten Dumbledore, and now quailed under his keen gaze. He was sure Dumbledore knew all was not well.

"Of course, Severus. And please," he added, "reconsider what I said during our last discussion on the matter."

Snape jerked his head stiffly in reply. "Come," he said to Harry, and headed for the door in a whirl of robes.

Harry followed hesitantly, looking back at Dumbledore and feeling like there were weights tied to his feet. The initial euphoria at the breaking of the Bond had faded away now, leaving him feeling hollow and confused. He wished he didn't have to face Snape just then. Overcoming the mad urge to lock himself in Dumbledore's office, he followed Snape out, stopping at the door to turn back.

"Thank you, Professor," he said, wondering why it took so long for him to remember to say it. Dumbledore smiled and assured him it was quite all right, but his eyes never left off sharply assessing him.

Snape was waiting for Harry down in his quarters, looking rather impatient. "Sit," he said to Harry, motioning him to a chair and not looking him in the eye. Harry's insides seized uncomfortably.

He paused for a moment before sitting, remembering that it had been impossible to sit at the same level as Snape without have Snape's arms around him. He suddenly caught sight of the dining table, which had been adjusted so Harry could sit at a lower level. It was now back to normal. He looked away quickly.

" _Sit_ ," Snape said, his impatience now very clear.

Harry cautiously obeyed, noticing his careful avoidance of any names. No 'Harry', or even 'Potter'. It didn't bode well.

"Er…" he said, "so you can't see into my mind anymore?"

"No." The answer was curt, emotionless.

Harry waited, but Snape said nothing. "Severus," he finally said, the name feeling slightly foreign on his tongue, but still pleasant. Snape twitched at the name. "What is it? What's wrong?" He hadn't meant to sound that desperate.

"This ends now," Snape said.

"What?"

"This. This— _familiarity_ —between us, Potter." Harry's heart sank at the surname. It must have shown on his face, because Snape sneered at him. "I warned you before, didn't I? Breaking the Bond would have repercussions, same as the forging of the Bond itself. Do you not feel it?"

Harry was silent.

Snape nodded in confirmation. "It is to be expected."

"Does that…change things for us?" Harry asked.

Snape had his _what-kind-of-idiot-are-you_ expression on. "What did you expect?"

Harry clenched his jaw.

"I… have a confession, of sorts, to make." Snape's voice had softened. Harry looked up from the floor that he had been so intently examining, eager for any break in that awful mask of granite Snape had on right now. "Do you recall my indirectly pushing you into Occluding strongly enough to deny me entrance into your mind?"

Harry frowned. It had been only a couple of days ago, why was Snape taling about it like it ahd been years or something? And he didn't want to be reminded of that time. "Yes," he said. He didn't know what to call Snape now, either, so he left the sentence hanging.

"I did that on purpose."

"What?"

"I needed to see what would happen if I had not allowed you to get as close as I did. Clearly, the nature of the Bond was such that it would simply not allow its participants to remain distant, unattached."

Harry had a strong feeling he wasn't going to like this. "Why would you need to test something like that?"

"What do you think?" Snape said again, this time in disgust. "My behaviour towards you was not of my free will, Potter. It was not forced by the Bond either; not entirely. I _pretended_ to be kinder than I actually felt, because it was what the Bond demanded." He paused, and added offhandedly: "Also, it was amusing to watch your response."

The blood rushed to Harry's head. "You—what—" He got up, feeling slightly insteady on his feet. "You mean you were _lying_ , pretending to _care_ about me, _pretending_ you'd like to actually be my—"

"Don't." Snape cut him off. "I had no choice, Potter. The Bond would punish you for any distance between us, and for your lack of hard labour. Did you not study the rules yourself, Potter?" His voice rose. "That was the purpose of the Bond—that we either behave as master and slave or father and son. The former was not viable for long periods of time, as you saw. You would've been half-dead in weeks from the exertion required, and the energy leeching off of you."

Harry laughed mirthlessly. "So you conned me to save me, is that it? Well, I wish you'd _let me die_!"

"I don't care what you wanted or didn't want, Potter," Snape said coldly. "I needed you alive and reasonably healthy to kill the Dark Lord; I neither want nor need anything more."

Harry shook his head from side to side to stop the ringing in his ears. "I don't believe this. I can't believe you. Wait…" A sudden though struck him, making his heart leap with hope. "Is this some scheme to get protect yourself from V— _him_ , because I can't Occlude anymore and my mind is unprotected? Because he can't know everything you've done over the past weeks, looking after me and all?"

Snape's face soured even more. "No, Potter. This is not an act—not anymore." He began speaking slowly, carefully, as though explaining to a child. "Everything that happened during the past weeks _was a lie_ : on two levels. _One_ , anything we felt for each other was a manipulation caused by the Bond. _Two_ , I—was—duping—you." The full-blown sneer was back on his face. "Was that simple enough for your miniscule brain to understand?"

Harry stared at the man. By now, it was all too simple to fall back into his older patterns of thinking: Snape was his enemy. He hated Snape, and with very good reason. The memories of the past weeks were suddenly very dim and irrelevant. He had got out his wand in a flash and was turning it on Snape before he could stop himself. Snape disarmed him immediately—not that he had been expecting anything else—but he didn't stop there. He grabbed Harry by his arms and slammed him into a wall.

"You have no idea how liberating this is, Potter." Snape's hot breaths fell on Harry's cheek. "Not having your pathetic emotions running rampant through my mind—as _your_ punishment for _your_ wrongdoing!" He stepped back and raised his wand. Harry braced himself, but Snape simply summoned his things from his room. (His room. What a joke, Harry thought, mentally correcting the label to 'guest room'.) Harry looked down at his trunk and Hedwig's cage, and then back up at Snape. Snape exaggeratedly rolled his eyes. "These—are—your—things, Potter. One generally packs one's belongings when one is leaving his current place of residence."

Harry ground his teeth at Snape's tone. "And where am I going?" he mimicked Snape's mockingly slow diction.

"A safe house, where you will remain for the rest of your holidays."

"What about the Dursleys?"

"The Dursleys are no longer suitab—" Snape cut himself off. "I suggest you ask the headmaster."

It was obvious Snpae didn't want to talk about them, so of course Harry prodded at the subject again. "They're not hurt or anything, are they?" It would be just like Snape (and Dumbledore, Harry though with a flash of old resentment) to keep something like a Death Eater attack on his family from him.

"What?—no. They are hale and hearty, and the world is all the worse for it, Potter!" Snape spat.

Harry stared again. If the _old_ Snape was back, he should love the Dursleys, because they hated Harry. Why was Snape acting like he hated the Dursleys?

Snape seemed to realise his mistake, too, but quickly recovered. "You know where the door is, Potter. Kindly remove your vaunted presence to the Headmaster's office. He shall take you—"

"Wait," Harry interrupted, returning Snape's glare with one of his own, "Did Dumbledore know about this? That you were cheating me, planning to turn on me now? Did he?"

"I am not familiar with the inner workings of the Headmaster's mind," Snape said smoothly—too smoothly. "I suggest _you ask him_ your endless questions, Mr Potter."

 _Oh my..._ "He knew," Harry whispered. "He knew…" _And he never warned me._

"I grow tired of this conversation, Potter," Snape said, again looking down at Harry as though he smelled something nasty. "One last thing—breathe a word of what you have learned about my past to anyone, and you will face both my wrath and the Headmaster's for once again putting my position with the Dark Lord in jeopardy." He waited a beat. "Now get out."

 _Get out._

Harry unclenched his fists, and lifted his chin. "Don't worry, Professor," he heard himself say. "I won't tell anyone your secrets— I won't even remember them, because I'm going to ask Dumbledore to _Obliviate_ me."


	15. The end of the beginning

**CHAPTER 15: The end of the beginning**

Severus stared at the boy who was lately confounding every single expectation he had of him.

" _I'm going to ask Dumbledore to_ Obliviate _me."_

He bit back his normal reaction to order Potter to address the Headmaster with respect. "What?" burst out of him before he could stop it, much shakier than he would have liked.

"You heard me," Potter said, his face hard. "You don't want me to remember, do you? Safer if I don't remember anything of this— _fiasco_ —at all." He was watching Severus very carefully.

Of course it was safer. It was a good solution to all their problems, not the least of which was the Bond. The mental component of the Bond was still intact, though in a much weaker form—not that Potter knew any of this. It was still a liability. If Potter didn't remember anything of the last month, the mental link would get weaker, and Severus would be far safer. The Dark Lord would never know what had happened unless Severus himself (or Dumbledore) told him.

Then why did it feel like his chest was about to collapse?

"Or you could do it yourself," Potter said casually, as if discussing the weather. "I don't really care."

The boy was putting up a good front, but his voice cracked in places, and he had stuffed his hands in his pockets to hide their trembling—Severus had noticed. Severus pictured himself raising his wand to the boy's forehead and watching his eyes dim, losing their brightness as the memories of the last weeks left him. The hatred would return to Lily's green eyes. He, Severus, would be the hated professor again.

Severus' stomach gave a sick swoop, and his knees went weak. "No." Now he didn't bother hiding the unsteadiness of his voice. "Go to the headmaster."

The boy noticed. Of course he did—he _always_ noticed. "Fine," he said. There was satisfaction in his voice at finally having gotten a reaction out of Severus.

Severus pulled himself together with an effort. "Get out, Potter."

Potter scoffed, grabbed one end of his trunk, and pulled it out of Severus's quarters without a backwards glance.

Severus lasted five minutes before he was charging out of his quarters and up the staircases to Dumbledore's office. He stopped dead when he reached the gargoyles.

"Password."

Severus opened his mouth and then shut it with a snap. Why was he doing this? What did he care if Potter lost his memories of their time together?

He whirled around, and headed to the Room of Requirement instead.

 _Wham!_

Two dummies exploded simultaneously with the force of his _Bombardo_ spell. Severus had been, as usual, imagining them ot be wearing the faces of James Potter and Sirius Black.

He debated using Harry Potter for the same task. He pictured green eyes behind hideous spectacles and overshadowed by unkempt hair. _Confrigo_ , he thought. The dummy he was pointing his wand at burst into pieces, as did the one behind it. And with a loud crack, the wall behind the dummies half-collapsed too.

Severus smiled without mirth. Thinking about Potter was inspiring. And oh, it was a relief to be alone in his head, without having Potter's emotions influence his decisions every second of the day.

He felt the slightest twinge of guilt at having pushed the boy away, but ruthlessly suppressed it. No, they were better off this way. Harry Potter and Severus Snape did not belong together in any capacity.

"Argus will not be pleased if you bring down the castle, my boy," Dumbledore said from behind him. The amusement in his voice sounded a little forced, so Severus didn't bother turning around, though it made him feel like an errant child. "Harry has settled in at the safe house, with no memories of what happened since he left the Burrow over three weeks ago."

"Good," Severus said firmly.

"Is it?" Dumbledore said.

Severus hurriedly changed the subject before Dumbledore went down that road. "I'm surprised you acquiesced to his asinine request," he said, deceptively mildly.

"It was Harry's choice," Dumbledore said innocently. "His concerns were also for your safety, in case someone got a hold of those memories from him. He was quite vocal on that subject, despite my reassurances that Voldemort would not dare enter his mind again."

Severus snarled in reply.

"Severus—"

"Don't!" Severus had meant to shout, but it came out sounding like a plea. "Leave well enough alone, Dumbledore! We can finally put this _fiasco,_ " he placed bitter emphasis on the word, "behind us, and concentrate our efforts on the Dark Lord."

"As long as it does remain behind us," Dumbledore murmured.

Severus ignored him in favour of exploding another dummy.

"Has young Draco Malfoy contacted you again, Severus?"

Severus heaved a sigh of relief at the change of subject. He pretended not to notice Dumbledore suppressing a smile at Sevrus' transparency, or the sadness that was still clear on the headmaster's face. "No, but Narcissa Malfoy has. She wishes to meet me at Spinner's End tomorrow."

* * *

A/N: End flashback. Back to the present timeline in the next chapter.

Three chapters in one day... come on, a review?

And thanks to everyone who's stuck with me so far; thanks for the reviews, favs and follows! Next chapters coming soon..er. At least that's the plan:)


	16. The Trial

**CHAPTER 16: The Trial**

A/N: A quick recap, all the way form the beginning.

Harry begins to have flashes of memories involving Snape in the beginning of his sixth year. They always involve Snape being kind and almost fatherly to him. Snape in reality, however, is just as nasty as usual, if not more. Just as Harry begins to question his sanity, a spell cast by someone in the Great Hall shows, very publicly (a glimmering golden cord connecting him and Snape), that there is some kind of mysterious connection between Harry and Snape. The next morning, Snape is arrested for the use of Dark Arts. Dumbledore summons Harry and explains to him that the memories Harry had been seeing (from Snape's POV) were from the summer, the events of which were removed from Harry's mind at his own request. He reverses the Obliviate spell.

Harry remembers everything that happened over the summer—a slave Bond, how it changed him and Snape, and then how Snape destroyed everything they had by admitting to him that his caring for Harry had all been an act.

Moving on.

* * *

A few weeks earlier

" _Sit down, Harry," Dumbledore sounded very, very tired. "When I cast the spell, try not to fight me."_

 _Harry's last thought before the_ Obliviate _hit him was,_ Fight for these memories? Not a chance.

* * *

In the present

Harry sat bolt upright in his chair, gasping as a month's worth of memories came rushing back. He only dimly heard Dumbledore's gentle admonishments to breathe deeply; he was too busy trying to make sense of the load of new information in his head.

He had cast a spell on Snape. He took a deep breath. The spell had backfired. _Breathe_. He had ended up as Snape's slave. _Breathe_. Snape had pretended to… be friends… and then turned around denied everything they had built when the Bond was broken. _Deep_ breath. And then he, Harry, had asked to be Obliviated.

 _And here I thought this summer had been unbearably dull,_ Harry thought, burying his throbbing head in his hands with a small groan.

"Harry." Dumbledore's voice brought him back to the present.

Harry wearily lifted his head. Dumbledore looked back at him expectantly. "If the Bond was broken, then why was I seeing Snape's memories of that time? They were Snape's memories, weren't they? They couldn't have been anything else…" He quickly shut up when he realised he was babbling.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Yes, Harry, the physical aspect of the Bond was broken. Professor Snape tells me you have studied Bonding Theory in some detail?" He nodded and continued while Harry scrambled for the memory. "You are no longer his slave, but the mental link remained, because… you grew rather close at the time."

Harry felt nauseous thinking about that, so he promptly turned to something else. "The mental link can't be removed?"

"Not unless both of you want it to go."

"We do, Professor! I do, and Snape…" He stopped, confused by the increased twinkle in Dumbledore's eye.

" _Professor_ Snape, Harry. And I would venture to say he does not know exactly what he wants at the moment."

"Are you saying he might want the mental Bond to remain?" Harry said, incredulous.

"I believe it very likely, Harry," Dumbledore said with utter seriousness. "That is why the Bond remains active, and that is why it responded to one of the Slytherins' Testing Spell."

"Er— the golden cord-thing in the Hall? The Slytherins did that? How do they know about this?"

"Voldemort has suspected that you've been using Bond magic ever since he looked into the Vault you inherited, Harry. The Slytherins were likely acting under his orders to find out whom you are Bonded to, because he would consider that a liability that he could exploit."

"Consider it?" Harry repeated. "So you don't think it's a liability?"

"In the form you and Professor Snape experience it? No," Dumbledore said. "There are, however, Dark Bonding techniques that would indeed be a serious danger to you."

Harry now remembered studying this.

"And this is why Professor Snape has been arrested, Harry. Voldemort will not hesitate to reveal his past as Death Eater to the Wizarding World— just to turn the Wizarding World against him, now that he knows Severus was a traitor to him all along. The people, and the Wizengamot, will assume Severus has been using Dark Magic on you. That is a crime punishable by a long sentence in Azkaban."

"Snape could go to Azkaban?" Harry said in alarm. "But _I_ cast that spell, and it wasn't Dark!"

"And we must convince the Wizengamot of precisely that," Dumbledore said. "The trial is tomorrow, Harry. I'm afraid I must ask you to testify on Severus' behalf."

"Of course, Professor," Harry said, his mind still awhirl.

* * *

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked as he entered the Gryffindor Common Room. "I found out what that golden cord means!"

Harry sighed. This would take a while.

He and his friends talked late into the night, huddled in a corner of the Common Room. Ron couldn't get over the fact that the spell he and Harry had practised together had landed Harry in all this trouble.

"Why don't we have a slave bond, then?"

"Oh, don't be silly, Ron," Hermione said. "That happens only when the victim," she cast an apologetic glance at Harry, "doesn't want to give up his memories. You're friends and Harry trusts you; he didn't mind you seeing his memories. It was very different with Snape."

Harry blushed at her explanation. He peeked at Ron to find him looking down, red-cheeked. _But that wasn't completely true,_ Harry thought. _Ron didn't see my memories of the Dursleys, because that had nothing to do with my loyalties—which was what the spell was for. Snape ended up seeing those memories; he knows more about me than Ron does now!_

This unwelcome discovery did nothing to improve his mood. He rubbed his aching head.

"Wait till this gets into the papers," Ron said.

"It's a good thing we've got Rita Skeeter under our thumb, or she would've found a way to blame you for this," said Hermione.

Harry thought they'd find a way to blame him no matter what, but said nothing.

"Poor Professor Snape," Hermione said, "he's waiting to be thrown into Azkaban through no fault of his."

Ron snorted. "I daresay Snape's done a lot of things deserving Azkaban. He lied to Harry!"

"Oh, come off it, Ron! That doesn't mean he deserves Azkaban!"

Harry sighed again as his friends went at it like hammer and tongs. He wished they'd just confess their undying love for each other and spare him the misery.

 _Good heavens, I sound like Snape._ He went to bed with that very unpleasant thought in his head.

* * *

"Charges against the accused," boomed Rufus Scrimgeour. "The use of Dark Magic to bind one Harry Potter to himself in a slavery Bond."

The Wizengamot muttered angrily, and Harry looked around the room to distract himself from the looming faces. Dumbledore was already beside Harry, and Snape was sitting in the accused's chair. Unlike in Harry's trial, the chains had wrapped themselves around him as soon as he had sat himself down. Snape would not look at Harry, and Harry looked away immediately.

Scrimgeour finished reading out his accusations against Snape, and Harry couldn't help but wonder how they had managed to conclude Snape was the guilty party. Surely if they had looked into it, they would have found that it was he, Harry, who had cast the spell?

"Did you and Harry Potter have a Bond of slavery in the month of July?" Scrimgeour barked, glaring at Snape.

Snape looked rather pale, but answered with a curl of his lip. "Yes."

"Did you cast this Dark spell?"

"Objection," Dumbledore said quietly. "I have submitted evidence to the court that the piece of magic in question was not, in fact, Dark. Quite the opposite."

"Oh, you think so, do you, Dumbledore?" Scrimgeour said scornfully from the judge's balcony. His hand was clenched into a very tight fist on his desk. "And how many slavery bonds do we know of that are fully Light?"

"Not many, to be sure, Rufus," Dumbledore said politely. "Not more than five broad categories, perhaps—depending on the circumstances under which the Bond was made and the conditions therein—"

"Five broad categories!" Scrimgeour said, in the same scornful tone. "A very lax view of Dark Magic you must have, Dumbledore. This is slavery we are talking of, not to mention a former Death Eater subjecting the Boy Who Lived to it!"

Harry felt a white-hot flare of anger. So Snape was going to be punished simply because of who he used to be, and who Harry was? "I did it," Harry said, loud and clear. Snape flinched at his voice, he noticed. Curious. "I cast that spell on Professor Snape, and it backfired on me."

Scrimgeour smiled—he had probably meant it to be kind, but it was ruined by the fact that it never reached his eyes. "Which is what one would expect you to say, Potter, when you are a slave. Snape probably ordered you to say that, didn't he?"

This kind of reasoning was all too familiar to Harry. "Dose me with Veritaserum, then!" Harry said. Dumbledore had coached him before they left for the Ministry. "Or check my memories; they'll show you the same thing!"

"I see." Scrimgeour's face had suddenly gone hard. "And why would you do such a thing? Why did you experiment with an unknown spell, on a professor no less, and in the middle of your holidays, in direct violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery?"

Harry's heart was pounding, and his palms were sweaty. "I—I wasn't thinking straight," he confessed. "My godfather had just died, and I… I had begun to doubt that it was all Sn—Professor Snape's fault; I was worried he was on Voldemort's side, that he was still a Death Eater. So when I found a spell that would let me know if he was still a loyal Death Eater, I took the chance." His voice had become confident as he went on.

"Hm," Scrimgeour said, and to Harry's surprise, he looked slightly pleased. "Ascertaining even your teachers' loyalties, eh?"

"Yes, Minister," said Madam Bones from beside him, and the coldness in her voice made Harry's heart sink. "It is truly remarkable that Mr Potter feels the need to break this particular law quite so many times, and each time he has what seems like a perfectly reasonable defence."

 _Yes, well, desperate times,_ Harry thought mutinously.

"I would remind the Wizengamot," Dumbledore said pleasantly, "that Harry has been cleared of all those charges. Two of those instances were directly related to his… unique position… in the Wizarding World, and the dangers inherent in it."

Harry knew what Dumbledore was talking about—Dobby and the Dementors, both in Little Whinging, and ultimately because he was constantly in danger—but still blushed at this subtle reminder of his status. Snape's scathing voice rings in his ears, talking about Special Treatment for the Boy Who Lived.

"Indeed," Scrimgeour says, looking far more relaxed. "And his treatment of the boy in his power? Was his behaviour satisfactory?"

It felt odd and backwards, being asked to assess if his _teacher's_ behaviour had been _satisfactory_. Harry risked a glance at Snape. The man had the overly blank look on his face that he sometimes got when he was feeling hostile but couldn't show it. _How do I know that?_ It really was creepy how he noticed these things about Snape now and knew what they meant. "It…" Harry had to clear his throat, it had suddenly gone hoarse. "It was rough at first, but yeah, once we got used to it, we were… fine." Now he couldn't look at Snape anymore. He was remembering again, still a bit bewildered by all he had learned the previous day. Fine? Why had he said that? How could he even sum up everything that had happened in a few short words—Snape's initial hostility, then the opposite, and then the admission of deceit?

Harry snapped his attention back to the Wizengamot. They were still talking—Dumbledore, Madam Bones and Scrimgeour—but it was obvious that Snape was to be cleared of all charges.

"Consider yourself fortunate, Snape," Scrimgeour said.

Snape said nothing. He was now standing, free of the chained chair, but still looked rather pale in the light of the burning torches on the dark walls.

"And Potter," said the Minister, "do be careful in the future—I do not believe you might be so lucky the next time, either."

Harry waited to be told off for his use of magic, maybe even to return for a trial of his own, but there was nothing. Scrimgeour, however, was still watching Harry as the Wizengamot was dispersed. Harry didn't like the look in his eyes; it was strangely possessive. He heaved a sigh of relief when he reached outside the doors of the large courtroom, feeling very aware of Snape in front of him, talking in a low voice to Dumbledore.

Then suddenly he heard Dumbledore say something that sent him into a mild panic. "Severus, why don't you wait with Harry here, while I go on ahead to clear the way for you? I'm afraid there will be rather a lot of reporters outside the Ministry walls."

Snape opened his mouth, Harry thought probably to protest, but Dumbledore was already gone. Harry was left alone with Snape in the deserted corridor.

* * *

A/N: There was someone who thought Snape's use of the word 'child' to refer to Harry was condescending. Well, it might be personal opinion and/or something that differs from place to place (I was born and have lived in India all my life, and even though English is the language I feel most comfortable with, it's really not the same as growing up in a country where it's the most commonly used language)—but I've never felt that way about the word. It really is intriguing to me that someone would feel that way. And also a bit annoying that I'm not getting across the meaning I want to…sigh. The limitations of language, I suppose. Anyway, I'm sorry you felt that way (I'm gonna call you Guest Reader since I don't have a name), it's horrible when that happens. Maybe replace it with a suitable term of mild endearment in your head, one you like? Feel free to send me suggestions, actually. My all-time favourite for Snape-Harry interactions is the 'idiot child' from A Year Like None Other. Really wish I could think up something so quintessentially _Snape_. Suggestions? A nickname for Harry, courtesy of Snape? What about 'muppet'?—I kinda like that one.


	17. The Dark Lord's Revenge

**CHAPTER 17: The Dark Lord's Revenge**

Two tense minutes ticked by, and it became clear to Harry that Snape did not intend to make conversation. So he spoke up. "Madam Bones wasn't nearly so nice this time," he said, and then cringed. Really, he could have thought of something better to say.

At least it got Snape talking. "Madam Bones," Snape spat, "was _nice_ last time because for once, you were not truly at fault. In this case, you _were_. Were it not for Scrimgeour's intense desire to make you mascot of the Ministry, you would be on your way to Azkaban right now—that is, unless your adoring fanbase still adored you enough to stop it." Harry tried to hold his teacher's dark gaze without flinching. "Dabbling in Dark Arts does something to you reputation."

Harry ignored the part about Dark Arts, knowing Snape was just trying to get under his skin. "Professor," he said, wishing Snape wouldn't clench his fists like that, "I'm sorry you had to go through all that because of me."

Snape ignored Harry in favour of staring at the wall. _Back to the silent treatment, are we?_ Harry thought sulkily, but knew better than to say aloud. Snape's fists were still clenched, and this uncharacteristic display of lack of control was making Harry rather nervous.

He looked carefully at the man again, re-evaluating what he knew in light of his regained memories. Snape's intense hatred of him made some amount of sense—he'd always hated Harry— but it seemed to have increased after the holidays. Why? Was he still angry that Harry had cast that spell at him?

Harry rolled his eyes at the thought. If so, it was high time Snape got over it. From what he could remember of the summer, he had been punished quite enough.

Just when he had given up on Snape talking, the silky voice spoke. "I trust you remember that you are not to speak to anyone of what you have learned about me."

"Of—of course," Harry said. "Except my friends—"

"There will be _no exceptions_ , Potter!" Snape shouted, making Harry jump. "At least _attempt_ to show that you have learned something from this highly unsavoury experience! You will respect others' privacy, or you will answer ot me!"

"Fine!" Harry said angrily, not liking being shouted at. Snape would likely kill him if he found out about the little he had already told Ron and Hermione, even if Harry had left out all details from Snape's personal life.

Snape sneered down at him. "I see your attitude has not changed. Is it not enough that you have effectively lost the Order its only spy?"

Harry felt himself go cold. Why hadn't he thought of that? Of course now that one of the Slythrins knew they had been Bonded, Voldemort would know too!

"I—"

"Didn't know?" Snape's awful sneer was fixed on his face now. "Didn't mean to? To slightly rephrase Madam Bones from a few minutes ago, it is _truly remarkable_ the number of horrendous blunders you make with _absolutely_ pure intentions, Potter."

 _Sirius_. Harry shut his eyes; a wave of grief hitting him like it hadn't in weeks. _My mistake; my stupidest, biggest mistake._

"Potter," Snape said, and now his voice was less hard. "I—" He stopped, and then looked down the corridor. "Come, Potter, we must leave."

Harry followed blindly, not realising where they were going until they stepped out into the warm afternoon air. Order members were there to escort them out. They were holding back a flock of reporters with flashing cameras and loud questions.

"Mr Potter! Is it true that Snape used Dark Arts on you?"

"Harry, how do you feel about the fact that he has escaped unpunished?"

"How do you feel about the fact that you are slave to a Death Eater?"

Harry looked around at Snape. He was scowling fiercely at the reporters. Something about the way he was standing struck Harry as strange. Then Kingsley stepped into Harry's line of vision, cutting off his view of Snape, and Harry was forced to turn back to the reporters.

"He's not a Death Eater!" Harry shouted at the short man who had asked that question. He reminded Harry uncomfortably of Rita Skeeter. Harry sent up fervent thanks that she, at least, was far away from this mess. "And _I_ was the one who cast that spell, all right? _I_ did it, not Snape! And it wasn't a Dark spell!"

There was a short, stunned silence, and then the babble began again, twice as loud. "You _wanted_ to be a slave to a former Death Eater?"—"How did you free yourself from the Bond?"—" Have you been using the Dark Arts, Mr Potter?"

"Come, Harry," Mr Weasley said, looking worriedly at the small crowd around them.

"Will you protest against the appointment of Death Eaters as teachers in Hogwarts?"

 _Death Eaters_. Harry looked around for Snape, who seemed to have disappeared. It had suddenly become clear to him why he'd thought Snape looked strange—it had looked like the man next to him had been gripping him by the arm. There was no need for any Ministry official to do that anymore; Snape was no longer under suspicion—he'd been cleared of all charges a few minutes ago.

 _Which means—_

Harry tore his arm out of Mr Weasley's grasp and ran towards the place he'd last seen Snape, bowling over more than one reporter in his hurry. Snape was nowhere to be seen. He ran a little further ahead, his heart in his throat, heedless of the Order members' shouts behind him.

There!

Snape was there, a little further apart from the crowd, and Harry thought he must be using a notice-me-not charm if the crowd of reporters wasn't paying him any attention. A brown-haired man stood by him, and Harry's eyes narrowed when he saw the cruel manner in which he was gripping Snape's arm.

"Severus!" tore out of his mouth before he could help it. Both men turned around; both looked furious, though he noticed Snape's fury seemed mingled with something not as fierce.

"Harry!" came Lupin's concerned shout from behind him. Harry hadn't even spotted him before now. He knew he had to act fast, that Snape was in danger—where was the rest of the Order, and why hadn't they noticed anything wrong? He ran towards to the two men, and just had enough time to hear Snape's shouted, "Potter, no!" as he threw himself at the man in a flying tackle. Then the world twisted around them. It was a feeling Harry had felt before, with Dobby—he knew this was Apparation.

Even through the discomfort of the process, Harry sensed Snape pulling him closer. Both men were panting from the added effort of Apparating an extra person. Finally, the sensation of being sucked through a tube ended. Harry landed on the grassy ground with a thump, sensing the two men with him do the same. He staggered to his feet immediately, wand out, but Snape had already got his wand back from his kidnapper. He bound him with ropes, like he had done to Lupin in Harry's third year.

"He's a Death Eater, right?" Harry asked Snape.

Snape strode up to him when he had finished tying up the other man, tucked his wand away and took Harry by the shoulders.

"Are you alright?" he growled, scanning Harry so carefully it made him blush.

"Um, yeah—"

" _What were you thinking?"_ Snape roared right next to Harry's ear, nearly deafening him. He took Harry's arm again, gripping it tight enough to bruise, and got out his wand again. "Hold on," he ordered, and Harry waited for the sucking sensation of Apparation.

Nothing happened.

Then Harry saw it. "Er, Professor, that's not your wand—"

"I know that, you little idiot!" Snape spat. "I was Disarmed back at the Ministry; this is Wormtail's wand."

Harry spun around to look at the bound Death Eater. "That's _Wormtail_?"

"Polyjuice Potion, Potter," Snape said, rolling his eyes and then glaring at Pettigrew's wand. "Potter! _What_ are you doing?"

"I'm going to kill him," Harry said hoarsely, trying to pull his arm away from Snape. "What do you think? Lemme go, Snape!"

Snape made an exasperated noise and let go of Harry's arm, only to throw an arm around his torso and restrain him. "Calm down," he said in Harry's ear, in that quiet tone that Harry knew made Neville very nervous, "or I'll put you in a body-bind."

Harry let loose a string of expletives, but stopped struggling. "He almost took you back to V-to _him_!" he said at last, looking straight into Snape's eyes—which were so close their noses were almost touching. "I made the mistake of sparing him last time… _Why_ are you protecting him?" he demanded, knowing he wasn't being very coherent.

"I'm not protecting him." Snape's voice was still quiet, but it ahd lost its menace. "I'm protecting _you_ , foolish child."

Harry paused. "Have you ever killed anyone?" he asked cautiously, lamost curiously.

It took Snape a while to answer. "Only Lily and your father."

A shock went through Harry. Snape looked down at him, and the misery in his black eyes hit Harry like the Hogwarts Express at full throttle. This was the first time Snape had acknowledged anything that had happened in the summer; the first attempt he had made to cross the distance between them. Harry was suddenly very aware of Snape's arms around him. "But you didn't kill them," Harry said earnestly. "Voldemort did, and _Wormtail_."

"Potter, enough," Snape said, looking away. He didn't sound angry or determined or sad; just empty. "You are not allowed to kill Pettigrew."

Harry struggled against Snape's hold bit more, but soon gave up. Snape was stronger than him. _And probably right too,_ he thought resentfully.

Snape was glaring at the wand again. "His wand does not work well enough for me to Apparate both of us."

"You try alone, then," Harry said gamely, trying to pull out of Snape's almost-embrace. Snape let him get away, but Harry winced when Snape's closed on his arm again like a pincer, his expression darkening like a thundercloud. Gone was the vulnerable man who had almost held Harry a minute ago.

"Have you lost what little wits you had left? No more heroics today, Potter, or I'll throw you to the Dark Lord myself!"

Harry stared at the man; and he couldn't help it— he laughed. And laughed some more, ignoring Snape's incredulous and angry look. He knew he was probably half-hysterical from fear, but it felt good to laugh. It brought back memories of many laughs with Snape. The man had a surprisingly good sense of humour when he wasn't busy insulting people. When Harry finally got himself under control, he asked, "Why don't you use my wand, then?"

Something dark flickered in Snape's eyes. "It won't work."

"How do you know?"

"Because I've tried it."

It must have been during the summer, Harry thought, observing the tenseness in the man's posture. Snape looked like it hadn't been a pleasant experience, though what could possibly have been unpleasant about trying someone else's wand was anyone's guess. "What about a message to the Order?"

"Already done—" Snape suddenly flinched and gripped his arm. "We must move," he said through gritted teeth.

Harry had just caught sight of something in the far distance. "Wait, is that—"

"Malfoy Manor, yes! _Move, now_!" It was the fear in Snape's voice, rather than the shout, that got Harry moving.

"Why did Wormtail bring us here?" Harry panted as he ran.

Snape cast a Disillusionment Charm on them both. His voice was much steadier than Harry's as he replied. "He probably wanted to take us to the gates, but you grabbed hold of us—a moronically dangerous thing to do, by the way—and upset his calculations. And completely drained him."

Harry thought how unfair it was that Snape could look and sound dignified while running for his life. "I did it to help you."

"And an impressive sacrifice it was, too," said a third voice that chilled the blood in Harry's veins.

Snape cursed.

Pop after pop signalled the arrival of several masked figures. Voldemort stood in the midst of them, his wand pointed at something other than Harry for a change. Not that that made him any happier. "Severus, my _most_ loyal servant," said Voldemort, "what have you brought me this time?"

* * *

A/N:

Cliffhanger! Sorry… er, no, I'm not. Climax comin' up!

I need to mention here that this story won't have the Severitus-adoption-happy-ending, not in this part. There'll be a sequel, and that's where it's finally settled. I hope I haven't disappointed anyone too much, but really, I didn't think it was realistic for them to get over everything that easily, especially considering the Bond was influencing their emotions and judgement before... it would've been too convenient. And Snape has a long way to go before he's ready to be anyone's father, let alone Harry Potter's. I simply can't digest all those stories that have him suddenly disciplining Harry and acting like a responsible authority figure…I mean, come on! I love Severus Snape, but the man is stuck at the emotional maturity of a vindictive sixteen year old, especially where Harry is concerned! And while change is certainly possible, I don't think it comes that easy. And anyway, the changing is the fun part. I want Harry to be the one who teaches Snape how to deal, not the other way round. Granted, Snape has plenty to teach and must be pretty wise himself, but this feels a lot more natural to me… Snape could learn a lot from Harry.

Also, for Sirius-lovers, he'll be making a grand entrance in Part 2! So... stick around for the sequel to The Master's Touch?

Thanks for the reviews, etc, etc. This story could not have been written without your support.


	18. The Self-Sacrificing Idiot

**CHAPTER 18: The Self-Sacrificing Idiot**

A/N: Warning for torture. Warn me if anyone thinks the rating needs to go up? Oh, and not slash, for the dozenth time.

* * *

Harry had thought he had seen Snape at his angriest at the Shrieking Shack, when Sirius had turned up and they had all thought he was the traitor.

The hatred on his face then was nothing to what he saw on Snape's face now. "You know full well I have done no such thing, you foul creature," he snarled. "And I am no servant of yours, _Voldemort_."

There were gasps and cries of outrage from the circle of Death Eaters. Harry looked at Snape, half in admiration and half in worry. Snape was usually the picture of control; but even the few times he had lost that control, he hadn't looked like this—body so taut he looked ready to burst, hair unruly and eyes wild with rage— an enraged animal straining at its restraints. Strange; even in the summer he hadn't thought about how much Snape must hate Voldemort.

"Forgive me," Snape continued. His voice was quiet and mocking. "I meant Tom Riddle."

He was down in the next moment, felled by several Cruciatus Curses. Harry dropped to his knees next to the man, frantically wishing there was something he could do, and wanting to scream right along with the writhing man on the ground. He had been Disarmed a few seconds ago by an enterprising Death Eater. Several times he wished the Bond were still active so he could take Snape's pain.

And Snape _still_ wouldn't stop taunting his tormentors. "Lucius," he addressed one of the masked figures, silky voice ravaged from his screaming, "watch out for Bella. She'll do anything to get the position of Chief Lapdog, even get rid of her brother-in-law."

Bellatrix let out a mad scream. "My Lord," she begged, "let me have him! I shall break him for you!" She sent a curse at Snape, and a loud crack sounded from inside the prostrate body. Harry tasted blood on his tongue at Snape's tortured scream. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about him in their mad rush to hurt Snape.

And then it came over him like a thunderclap that that was what Snape wanted. He _wanted_ them to forget Harry and hurt him instead; that was the reason for all the senseless (for Snape) taunting! _I knew it!_ He thought. _I knew something was wrong—Snape wouldn't act like that, it's me who does things like irritating Voldemort!_

"Enough," Voldemort called, just as Harry opened his mouth to yell something suitably attention-catching. "Bellatrix, stand down. I know what will break Severus; what he holds dearer than his physical body." He pointed his wand at Snape, curling his lip at the glare his former servant sent him. Snape was on his back, lifting himself up by his elbows, and his breathing sounded painful. "He has been admirably skilled in lying to me; and in keeping his secrets hidden from the best Legilimens in the Wizarding World. He fears mental violation a lot more than physical, isn't that right, my traitorous servant?"

To Harry's further surprise (and worry), Snape gave Voldemort a fierce, ugly smile. "Voldemort," he said, " keep complimenting me like that and you'll have me blushing very soon."

Voldemort's high shout of rage rang over the Death Eaters' similar exclamations, sounding surprisingly like Bellatrix's earlier scream. "Legilimens!" he cried.

"No!" Harry shouted uselessly, knowing that Voldemort would probably prove too strong even for a master Occlumens of Snape's calibre. A discussion with Snape from the summer came back to him now.

"How come Voldemort never found out your true loyalties, if he's such a powerful Legilimens and all?" he'd asked curiously one lazy afternoon.

"It's not just a matter of power, Potter," Snape had said, looking up from his steaming cauldron. "It's skill at deflection. I have the Dark Lord convinced there is nothing to search my mind for. When I stand before him, he sees only memories of mine that would be suited to a Death Eater with a dark past."

"I'll never be able to do that," Harry had said, pretending to sulk.

"I agree." Snape had smirked. "Harry, if you throw that at me it'll be detention for the rest of the _year_!"

An angry hiss from Voldemort brought him back to the present. "What is this?" he said.

Snape was smirking like a satisfied cat. "Why don't you ask Dumbledore?" Blood splattered his chest and face before the sentence was out of his mouth.

"Not quite as powerful as your _Sectumsempra_ , Severus," Voldemort said coldly, looking down at the gasping man, "but I can't have you bleed to death too quickly."

Harry had had enough "Stop it! It's the Bond, all right?"

"Potter, shut up," Snape said through gritted teeth.

Voldemort turned questioningly to Harry. "Yes? What about the Bond, Potter?"

"It protects both of us; it won't let you into either of our minds, Tom," Harry said, trying his best to ignore Snape's glower and sound defiant at the same time. He added, taunting, "The Bond is stronger than you!"

"Why," Voldemort purred, "you seem positively delighted with something that enslaved you to the man you hate. Did he break you after all? Are you pleased to carry out his every wish?"

Harry let out a sharp laugh. "Never."

But Voldemort had moved on. "Or has he found other means of domination?" An obscene smile spread over his reptilian face. "He lusted for your Mudblood mother, did you know, Potter? Has he satisfied himself with her son instead?"

Harry almost threw up his meagre breakfast. "He _loved_ her, you—"

"Shut _up_ , Potter!" Snape shouted, impressively loudly considering his weakened state.

Harry subsided at once, abashed. Snape's secrets weren't for him to reveal, especially to Voldemort, even with the intention of defending him. He glanced at Snape and winced at the incensed look his teacher was sending his way. A cold, high laugh came from Voldemort. "You really have tamed him, haven't you, Severus? And what is this I hear about _love_? Had Dumbledore gotten his claws into you even back then?"

"What makes you think I'm going to tell you, Tom?" Snape said in a bored voice, and Harry tensed, sensing Voldemort's temper rise again. "Do your worst. I will not satisfy your curiosity."

"Oh, I intend to," Voldemort said. "I certainly intend to do my worst. You and Potter are Bonded, then? How would you like to see him scream instead of yourself?" Harry hadn't thought it was possible for Snape to get any paler, but Snape did. Voldemort laughed. "Oh, this is precious! You will fall by Dumbledore's own principles, my traitor; _love_ has made you weak. Enjoy!"

Then it was Harry's turn to scream in agony. Red-hot knives danced up and down his nerves, jerking yell after unearthly yell from his throat. The only thing that kept him sane was the thought, _Better me than him._ He clung to it with all his might even as his throat grew hoarse. He summoned his newly regained memories of Snape as his friend and protector, in ways more than one. Snape hadn't just saved him from Voldemort; he had also helped Harry in his grief over Sirius… Somehow, Harry was beginning to doubt it had all been an act… The soft voice and touch awakening him from his nightmares, Snape's gift on Harry's birthday… Snape protecting Harry from the ill effects of a Bond that Harry had brought on himself…

The pain lifted suddenly, and for the first time he realized he was on the grassy ground, the smell of earth in his nostrils. He lifted himself up to see that Voldemort had turned on Snape again. He groaned inwardly. Snape must have spat at Voldemort or something, to get back his attention. This was getting ridiculous—like a game where both of them tried to annoy Voldemort the most.

Voldemort was speaking again, and now he was properly angry. "I have had enough of you," he said. "Die, Severus; die in the knowledge that you have failed in your mission to protect the Potter brat." His wand came up again, and Harry knew the next words out of his mouth would be the Killing Curse.

He took a deep breath before bursting out laughing.

* * *

This had been an unmitigated disaster from the moment Wormtail had managed to overpower him outside the Ministry by threatening Potter _("Drop your wand or Potter dies, Snape")._ Bested by Pettigrew, of all people. Severus spared a moment's resentment towards the boy for making him weak enough to give in to such a threat. It had not been strategic thinking that had prompted him; it had been a wild, unthinking panic at the thought of the boy lying dead—a panic that had overridden sense. He, Severus Snape, had folded like a card at the merest suggestion of a threat to Harry Potter.

 _Pathetic_.

And the boy was paying the price. He was doubled over on the ground, weak from the Cruciatus Curse, laughing almost uproariously. Had he lost his sanity already, after a few minutes of the torture? _Come now_ , a part of him that he had buried deep within spoke up, _you know he is stronger than that._

 _Shut up,_ he told it.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Riddle," Potter finally gasped. Severus was a little surprised Voldemort had not acted already, ignoring mad-Potter theatrics. "Not unless you want to end up half-dead _again_."

Severus silently cursed. What in the name of all things sacred was the idiot boy up to now? "What is this?" Voldemort hissed again, but Severus saw he was unnerved.

"I thought you'd been studying Bonding Theory, Riddle?"

"Potter, _shut up_ —" Severus began furiously, but was silenced by a slash of Bellatrix's wand.

"You can't kill him unless you kill me," the boy crowed. Merlin, he almost sounded _happy_. Triumphant. Did the foolish _brat_ not care that he would be struck down? What was he trying to accomplish? "As a master Severus draws energy from me."

Severus dimly wished he could get his hands around the boy's scrawny neck. He'd teach him respect ('Severus' indeed; he was no longer the boy's playmate!), as well as a few lessons about stupid risks. He shook his head frantic rage, but that only seemed to encourage Potter.

"You want to kill him, Voldemort?" Potter said cheerfully—too cheerfully. But his eyes were like twin glittering, diamond-hard stones. He was on his feet now, shaking with the after effects of the Cruciatus. "You'll have to go through me."

 _You'll have to go through me._

He really was doing this. The fool thought he was protecting him from the Dark Lord by getting himself killed first. Severus suddenly found it difficult to draw breath. The boy was glaring at the Dark Lord, false laughter gone. Severus wished the boy would look at him. What good would Potter dying do? He didn't want to see Lily's dead eyes before he died. "Harry…" was that his own voice, so strained and tortured? Why had Bellatrix lifted her silencing spell?

The boy seemed to note the change, too. He started, and turned to Severus, green eyes glinting. The hard lines of his face softened when their eyes met. Severus wanted to rail at him for wasting his mother's sacrifice, but there were still pincers around his lungs; he couldn't breathe, let alone shout.

"Severus?" the boy's voice had shifted from a shout to a near-whisper, though his eyes still looked angry as they looked down at Severus.

"Look at me, boy," the Dark Lord (he couldn't stop calling him that even in his head; it was a habit he had forced himself to maintain as long as he was a spy) said. "Do you not wish to face your death like a Gryffindor?" The boy ignored him, and Severus would've laughed at the Dark Lord's disgruntlement if he weren't waiting with dread for the boy to be struck down.

And then whatever barrier had existed between their minds (ever since he had told the boy about his own deception) collapsed like a pack of cards. For the first time in weeks, he had complete access to the boy's mind. Severus gasped slightly and pitched to one side, grateful he was already on his knees. The first few seconds were relentless, overwhelming waves of emotions (fear-love-anger) and thoughts (don't-do-this-Harry/do-you-still-hate-me-Severus). Next came a wave of euphoria. His own mind cried out in joy at meeting Potter's, embracing it as wholeheartedly as though it were a homecoming rather than a venture into a strange place.

So this is what home is like, Severus thought, dazed.

 _Goodbye, Sev._

The message from the boy's mind snapped him out of his stupefaction.

" _Avada Kedavra_."

" _No_!" That could not have been Severus' own voice, so hoarse and wild. The boy slumped to the ground like a felled tree.

 _Crack!_

Dumbledore appeared three feet away from Voldemort, brandishing his wand. Several more cracks followed, but Severus wasn't paying attention. He dragged himself up from the ground and limped over to the boy. Once more in a daze, he knelt, pulled the boy into his arms and buried his face in the boy's hair. _Oh, Harry…_

He didn't see Voldemort speak over the skirmish with the Order, or see the deadly green light make its way towards him. Relief was at the forefront of his mind when the searing pain struck his collarbone. _About time._ _I'm coming, Lily…I'm sorry I couldn't save him; forgive me…_

"Severus? Severus!"

 _Go away,_ Severus thought, holding on to the boy as tight as he could as he slumped to the ground. _Let me be miserable in death, as I deserve to be._ On the heels of this thought came the question, _Why am I still alive?_ His eyes shot open, and the world began to expand from the small point it had shrunk to when the boy had fallen.

Dumbledore was speaking, but Severus ignored him and turned his attention back to the soft weight in his lap. The Order members gathered around them in a circle, eerily reminiscent of the Death Eaters they had just defeated. He ignored them, too, and ran gentle fingers across the boy's cheekbone. _Still warm, with a blush on his cheeks._ _He doesn't look dead_. He knew he must be in shock if he was still denying it. The boy's eyes were closed. A sob rose in his throat; he wanted to see Lily's eyes open again. How was he going to live, knowing he had failed—

As if in response to his wish, those eyes moved, still closed.

"Severus…?" Lupin's incredulous voice (the werewolf was crouching far too close to him, but he didn't care about that now) confirmed that Severus had not lost his mind. The boy had moved.

Severus hoisted the boy up with one arm and began to find the artery in the boy's neck. To his utter disgust, his fingers were trembling so much he couldn't loosen the boy's collar enough to get them in position. Lupin's brown hands gently stilled his own and performed that unnaturally onerous task. Severus looked at him, half-shocked and half-disgusted by the touch, and was taken aback by the compassion he saw on the man(werewolf)'s face. But he didn't care about that either, not even enough to push him away. His still trembling fingers searched for a pulse—

—and there it was, a fast thudding under his fingers, proof of life.

Severus gave a loud exhale, a half-sob, and rested his forehead against the boy's. Later, he would wonder at the lack of awkwardness he felt at his own behaviour. "Harry," he whispered, cupping the boy's cheek with one hand and forgetting those around them entirely, "wake up… _please_."

"Dad?"

Severus froze, and then jerked so hard he nearly fell over. As it was, the motion nearly threw Potter off his lap. Green eyes opened and speared Severus with a surprisingly sharp gaze. Reality came crashing back; Severus leaned still further back as he became aware of his position (the boy in his arms) and the people around them.

Good grief, was Potter _smiling_ at him? "Matching scars now," he said, apropos of nothing.

Severus frowned. Had the Killing Curse harmed the boy's mind? How was Potter still _alive_ ; since the blood the Dark Lord had taken at his resurrection would have rendered Lily's blood protection null and void?

Potter's hand came up as if to touch Severus' cheek. Severus recoiled violently. Shock and hurt showed in the boy's eyes, followed by a cold anger.

"He's talking about your scar, Severus," Lupin said, managing to sound gentle, relieved, angry and suspicious in just one sentence. "You have one now too, where the… Killing Curse hit you."

 _I was hit by—? Oh._ Severus stared at him, and then automatically looked to Dumbledore for an explanation. The movement made his lower neck burn with a pain close to the Dark Mark's, and he brought up his hand to the flaming region. Potter's hand caught his own, stopping the motion.

"Don't touch it," the boy said curtly. "It's raw right now, it'll hurt." He pushed away from Severus and rose to his feet, seeming slightly self-conscious under the stares of the Order. Severus bit back the urge to ask them all if Potter was a prize specimen at a zoo, and began to follow the boy's example.

He fell right back to the ground.

"Severus!" There was a joint cry from Lupin and… Dumbledore, maybe? He didn't know, his vision was tunnelling and the voices sounded very far away. He heard the boy speaking—arguing?—with Dumbledore.

"I won't let him die, Professor!" someone shouted, and then _he_ was chanting something, loud and confident. Through the haze and the pain, Severus automatically translated the Latin. _"I, Harry James Potter, do voluntarily bind myself to Severus Tobias Snape, to be his slave— to fulfil his needs as I am able and can conscionably do."_

* * *

A/N: Ta-da! Yep, Harry deliberately and knowingly enslaves himself to save Snape (explanations coming up in the next chapter)! What do you think? A tad different from the enslaved-Harry-ends-up-free-and-happy stories, eh? Only two more chapters to go, and Part 1 will be done! Thank you all! I can't believe I've got over a hundred reviews! Thank you, I say!


	19. Square One?

**CHAPTER 19: Square One?**

Snape looked half-dead, lying on the ground. "What's happening?" Harry demanded of Dumbledore.

"Your blood in his veins is what saved him from Voldemort's Killing Curse." Dumbledore looked white and grim. "But you are not actually family; the blood was part of a spell to bind you. It isn't enough to keep Severus alive. He is dying of the Killing Curse, slowly but surely."

Harry thought furiously. "What if we used another slave Bond?" he said. "All slave Bonds allow the master to draw strength from the slave, don't they? Even the voluntary ones?"

Dumbledore looked shocked for the first time in Harry's memory. "Harry," he said, "you are talking of a lifetime of bondage—"

"I know," Harry said grimly. "Better than most, I reckon."

"Harry, Severus would not want you to do this—"

"I can't let him die, Professor!" Harry nearly shouted, and Dumbledore subsided, giving him a small sad smile as he handed Harry's wand back to him.

Harry waved it in a large intricate pattern, feeling thankful for the hours he had spent obsessively going over the books on slavery. The spell was a longer one than he was used to, but relatively simple considering its importance.

 _"Ego Jacobus Harrius Potter, meque ultro ad Severum Snape Tobias, servus praestare necesse esse et bona conscientia facere possum."_

" _No_ ," came a hoarse voice, and Harry looked down. Snape's eyes were only half-open, but he looked horrified.

Harry set his jaw. "I'm sorry, _sir_ , but unless you'd rather die than be my master, you really don't have a choice." He slashed his wand in another complicated pattern. "You shouldn't have let me read all that stuff about Bonding."

And then it was over. Harry felt something hot on his neck, but he ignored it. He was too busy basking in a warm glow of accomplishment that even Snape's poisonous look (and the cold creeping in his veins) didn't quell.

"You _fool_ ," Snape rasped, beginning to sit up. Harry stepped forward to help him. Snape snarled, but Harry determinedly put out his arm to him.

"Severus." Dumbledore spoke mildly, but Harry could hear the reproof beneath as he helped Snape stand. "Harry has saved your life at the cost of his own freedom and dignity, so you can borrow his strength."

The muscles in Snape's arms bunched and strained in Harry's grip. "As though you haven't already done enough— let _go_ of me, Potter!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Lupin and Mr Weasley stiffen. The rest of the Order still looked dumbstruck. Then he had to hold on to Snape for support as his knees went weak.

"Potter!"

That didn't sound concerned at all, Harry thought mournfully, his head feeling light. Why was Snape so _angry_ with him? He shook his head to clear it. "I'm fine," he gasped, directing the statement to Lupin and Mr Weasley, who had surged forward in alarm. "It's just the Bond working. Snape's drawing the strength he needs from me, through the Bond." He stifled a yelp when Snape put an arm around him to support him. Then there was a cold hand on his neck, and he did yelp. "What are you doing, Snape?"

Snape's lips tightened at the informal address, but his finger moved further down Harry's neck, pulling down Harry's collar. His other hand was on the back of Harry's neck, holding him in place. Harry shivered at the touch, and then blushed at the reaction. Snape's finger stopped for a moment, and a strange expression crossed his face. "Checking your brand for injury or infection, Potter—oh, yes, there is a brand on your neck, though I suppose you did not feel it because the voluntary terms of this Bond preclude any pain to the slave."

"That's…er, good, isn't it? No pain this time round?"

Snape's finger was moving in a circle around what Harry guessed must be the brand. It was very distracting; so Harry focussed on lightning scar on Snape's neck. _That looks so weird._ Snape sensed the direction of his gaze and pulled away. He tugged at his collar, trying to hide it and looking very oddly self-conscious, but it wouldn't cover the whole scar.

There was an awkward silence for a minute as Snape avoided looking at Harry in the eye. Then Moody spoke. "The Wizarding World will see this as yet more Dark Magic," he said gruffly, glaring at Snape as though it was all the Potions Master's fault. Harry blushed at the protective way in which everyone was looking at him—well, all except Snape.

"Don't worry, Moody, your golden boy will not be blamed; I will," Snape replied. He was standing as stiff as a statue. Harry, on the other hand, felt like he could melt to the ground in a gooey heap, he was so tired. The Bond was exhausting him.

"You _should_ be blamed, but Potter here just announced to the Wizarding World at his interview that he was the one who cast the original Bonding spell—"

"We will deal with that when the time comes," Dumbledore said, finally speaking. He had been quietly studying Harry and Severus all this time. "For now, both Harry and Severus need rest." He offered his arm to Harry and asked him to hold on tight during the apparation. Just before they left, Harry saw Snape and Lupin standing together, and Snape talking urgently. Curious, he leaned forward and strained his ears, giving Mr Weasley an absent-minded wave.

"But why won't you tell me—" Lupin was saying, and Snape interrupted, speaking so softly Harry only caught bits of what he was saying. Something about how no one could know, and could Lupin please shut up and do as he said.

Then he and Dumbledore reappeared outside Hogwarts' gates. Snape was right behind them.

"Wait," Harry said when they were safely within the gates, "Professor Dumbledore, before we see anyone, could I speak to Professor Snape? Alone?"

Dumbledore smiled wearily at Harry, but his eyes were still sharp and assessing as he looked at both Harry and the silent Snape. Harry wondered what he saw. "Very well, Harry, but Madam Pomfrey will not be pleased if you stay out here too long in your weakened condition."

Harry winced at the thought of the medi-witch's shrill scolding. "I'll keep that in mind, Professor." He waited until the man was gone, and then turned to the dark, still figure behind him. "I told those reporters that I was the one who cast the spell," he said. He smiled wryly. "They'll probably be calling me a Dark Wizard in tomorrow's newspaper. For now, no one will think of blaming you, hopefully, but that'll change if everyone sees you bossing me around."

Snape had been standing as still as a marble statue and just about as animated, but at this he stirred. His face twisted with some unnamed emotion, and then smoothed again.

"The Slytherins'll be after you now, too, since your position as spy is gone. All it'll take will be one word to the papers that you're hurting the Boy-Who-Lived and everyone in the Wizarding World'll be looking to hurt you."

"Is this your idea of a threat, Potter?" Snape drawled. "The sorting Hat may have wanted to put you in Slytherin, but those tendencies of yours are far too stunted to be of any use to you. You are my slave now, don't forget, if I wish to 'boss you around' without making myself a target I shall merely do it in private where no one can see."

Harry fantasised knocking some sense into Snape—very, very literally. Several hard knocks to the head. "Fine," he said through a clenched jaw. "You do that." He spun on his heel and walked away, stopping a little way away from the doors. "You know, you might have considered the possibility that I was trying to protect you, but nooo, arrogant Harry Potter can't think of anyone besides himself—" He cut off when he was grabbed from behind and spun around, then slammed into a wall.

"Watch yourself, Potter," Snape hissed. "You may find you have bitten off more than you can chew with this latest stunt. Do not expect me to be beholden to you. I am your master and you are my slave; there is an end to the matter."

Harry stared at the man in disbelief and dismay. "You don't mean that," he whispered. "You can't mean that." He took a deep, painful breath—being slammed into the wall had knocked the wind out of him. "Professor, why are you doing this? I'm not your enemy! Not very long ago I was calling you father and you were calling me—"

Quick as a viper, Snape's wand came up to touch the side of Harry's neck. Equally suddenly, Harry found himself kneeling on the ground. "I did _mean it_ , Potter," Snape told him. For a few moments, his face showed myriad expressions that Harry could barely follow. There was regret, disgust, anger, and a few less unpleasant things he felt too raw to decipher. Instead, he shuddered—whether from Snape's wand on him or Snape's intense gaze, he didn't know. "Your brand allows me to control you this time round, as you may have deduced, Potter. And make no mistake; I will make full use of your weakness, and possibly enjoy it."

Harry had given up his pride a few minutes ago. The Bond had been feeding off of him for a while now; he felt tired enough to sleep on the cold stone floor. "Please," he said. "Don't do this. It doesn't have to be like this."

"Yes it does, Potter, and it will. What happened today changes _nothing_."

A suffocating darkness descended over Harry's mind. At first he thought it might be the Imperius Curse or something like it; then he realised that he'd be feeling a lot less miserable if it were. This was misery, pure and simple, an intangible agony gripping his insides and penetrating the marrow.

There were hands on him now, supporting him, lifting him up. "Go to bed, Potter." The voice came as if from far away; but even through his dark haze Harry noticed that the voice had gone very soft, as though speaking to a frightened child. The hands holding him felt nice, too.

He obeyed the glorious, silky voice and headed straight for Gryffindor Tower. Once there, he went to his dorm and fell into his bed fully dressed, having hardly noticed his friends' frantic questions. He slept like the dead through the evening and late into the morning.

* * *

The sound of his dorm-mates' friendly banter was what woke him. He sat up, blinking, and reached for his glasses. When he had put them on and looked back up, there was dead silence in the room.

"Er," he said, "good morning?"

There was a long pause, and then Neville spoke up hesitantly. "Good morning, Harry." Harry looked around for Ron. "He's in the common room," Neville added.

Harry wanted to ask why the other boys were staring at him as though he, Harry, had morphed into a werewolf while asleep, but decided to wait for Ron instead. He glanced at the clock. "I've missed the first class!" he yelped.

"Harry, mate!" Ron said, coming in with Dean, who had gone to fetch him. Harry noticed Dean wouldn't look Harry in the eye. An unpleasant foreboding swelled in the back of his mind. "Come on down before Hermione loses it over the number of classes you've missed!"

 _I've missed only one,_ Harry wanted to say, but took in Ron's forced smile and scrapped that idea too. Once he had dressed, Ron handed him a potion that had been on Harry's side table. Harry hadn't noticed it until now. "Madam Pomfrey came down here to tell us you needed to sleep as long as you could, and then have this. The house-elves are going to bring you a meal—"

Said meal appeared on a small table before the words were out of his mouth. Harry stared. Since when did the house-elves serve students food in their dorms?

"Maybe Dumbledore thought you might need some slack," Ron said unnaturally hesitantly, when Harry asked.

Harry remembered now that he was supposed to have gone to the infirmary the previous night; both he and Snape had forgotten. Madame Pomfrey never visited dorms unless there was an emergency! "Ron, what is going on?" he demanded.

Ron sighed as though giving in to the inevitable and handed Harry a copy of the Prophet.

 _ **BOY-WHO-LIVED GONE OVER TO YOU-KNOW-WHO!**_ The headlines blared. _**HARRY POTTER USES DARK ARTS ON HIS PROFESSOR!**_

Harry slowly put the newspaper back in Ron's hands and lowered his face into his hands, not knowing whether to laugh or rage. He had joked the previous day about the Wizarding World turning against him, but seeing it happen was another thing entirely. "That's what Seamus and Dean were on about, then?" he said dully. "The whole school thinks this?"

"Well, Dumbledore announced that it was all a lie, but he did say that you were a…" Ron hesitated for a ling moment, "slave to Snape, but of your own choice, and you did it only to save him. Blimey, Harry," he added, sounding properly thunderstruck, "what a thing to do! Are you bonkers?"

Hermione's reaction was slightly more tempered with understanding, but she was just as stunned by what Harry had done. "Oh, Harry," she said, and to Harry's horror, there were tears in her eyes, "Professor Dumbledore gave me some books to read about the kind of Bond magic you tried, and it seems there's no way to break the Bond now! You and Professor Snape are already bonded by blood—"

Ron made a gagging noise. Harry smiled weakly at him. The small quantity of food he had been able to get down was sitting in his stomach like a slab of lead.

"—that's what you used to break the Bond last time," Hermione said, ignoring Ron. "You can't do that again. Even if you try another kind of Bonding, say, adoption— Harry?" She stopped in concern when Harry choked on air.

"I'm fine," he lied. Even hearing the word _adoption_ made his stomach cramp up now, considering how he ahd begun thinking of Snape before it all went down the drain…

Hermione looked at him in her annoyingly knowing manner, but didn't comment, to Harry's relief. "Even if you try another kind of Bonding that should normally cancel a slavery Bond, it won't work on this one because Harry created it himself."

"So if he stops wanting it, he can break it?" Ron said.

"If he does, Professor Snape will die," Hermione said shakily. "Harry's Bond with him is what's stopping the effect of Voldemort's—oh, Ron, get over it!—Voldemort's Killing Curse. If the Bond is broken, the Curse will take effect, even if it's ten years from now."

Ron looked like Snape dying was a fine thing as far as he was concerned, but his face fell when he looked at Harry. "So…what does Snape say about this, then?" he said gruffly. "Has he changed his attitude? He wasn't in Potions class today; we heard he was ordered to get rest."

Harry didn't reply for a full minute. A deep ache stirred in his chest. "No, Ron," he said. "He hasn't changed his attitude. He's the same as ever. Only it feels a lot worse because…" He couldn't finish that sentence, not with Hermione's agonisingly sympathetic face before him.

Ron made a noise like a growling dog. The association was not helpful; it brought back Harry's longing for his godfather in unrelenting waves. "Will he go all fatherly again, now that this Bond's in place?"

"No, Ron," Hermione answered before Harry could. "This Bond doesn't have the same characteristics. Snape has less control over Harry. The Bond won't be pushing them to be friends with each other. Though there are some very public things you're required to do, Harry."

Harry already knew this, so he didn't ask. Ron did it for him. "What public things?"

Hermione flushed, whether from anger or mortification it was hard to tell. "Harry has to kneel to him when he sees him, even in pubic— _especially_ in public." Ron jumped up, looking ready to explode, and began pacing the room.

"I'll bet he'll enjoy that," he said, sounding like he was gritting his teeth.

"And Harry has to…um, kiss his hand. Then he has to wait until the professor acknowledges him to get back up."

Harry looked down to find his hands clenched into fists. He really hadn't thought this through when he had cast the Bonding spell; all he had wanted to do was save Snape. "I don't regret this, Hermione," he said slowly, then put his face in his hands. "But I really don't know how I'm going to do this, especially now that he doesn't even want m—" But he didn't want to think about that now.

"You'll manage, Harry," said a new voice, and they turned to find Ginny standing there with her hands on her hips, looking remarkably like her mother. "You always do."

A curious warm feeling stole into Harry's bones at her words, and he sat up straight again, taking a deep breath. "We're with you, mate," Ron said, going a little red at his own uncharacteristic openness. The girls nodded grimly, and Harry began to grin.

"Well, then," he said, feeling grateful for the millionth time that he had such good friends, "Snape had better watch out."

* * *

 **A/N: Okay, so I know people don't have to be blood related for the protection-from-killing-curse-through-sacrifice thing to work, but just assume it is, okay? I always felt that made more sense, even though Harry's sacrifice in the last book did protect the whole school.**

 **This is what happened at the climax, for those who need a detailed explanation about why AK's were flung about without anybody 'getting so much as a nosebleed': Snape and Harry mingled blood in order to break the first slave Bond. This blood link between them meant that Harry's (sacrificial) death would protect Snape. [Harry taunted Voldemort with another Bond Function—Master-drawing-strength-from-slave; which did exist, but not in the first Bond, and anyway, that Bond was gone. Harry was lying, and Snape knew it, which was why he got furious. He thought Harry would die, and for nothing.] Anyway, Voldemort zaps Harry. The blood link between them (from Book4—dear Wormtail took Harry's blood for Voldie, remember?) protects Harry from being killed by Voldemort. This happened in canon too. Voldie just cannot kill Harry.**

 **But he did try, so the sacrifice thing works just like it did in the book. Voldie couldn't kill Snape either, here.**

 **Ta-da.**

 **One chapter to go. Though I may add outtakes to this story. One-shots, mostly fluff, some possible ways this story could've gone but didn't. What do you think, would you be interested? I'll also be putting up a teaser for the sequel, but the sequel itself will be some time in coming out. I have another HP/ Severitus story to finish: Fatherly Enmity. Check it out, especially after I put up the next chapters!**

 **And please review!**


	20. What Binds Us Together

**CHAPTER 20: What Binds Us Together…**

 **A/N: This (sort-of final) chapter is dedicated to those faithful reviewers who responded to chapter after chapter: wandamarie, yondi, BlueWater5, Camelot Knight, bootstring, Kyrinea, Hp princess no.1…Thank you! There are more, thanks to you too! Special thanks to zealousfreak—I miss your long, kind reviews…but thanks for giving me some of them, anyway!**

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 _I would so much have preferred to die, but you had to go spoil that; didn't you, Potter?_

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The school had turned on the boy…again. Even Potter's housemates were scowling at him as he walked past. Severus sneered at the House of the noble and the brave. Had they not yet learnt to mistrust the newspapers?

On the other hand, it felt incredibly satisfying to see Potter brought low. Or it would have, if he could just get rid of that hollow feeling in his stomach.

Potter strode to the front of the Hall, head held high, seeming not to hear or mind the whispers around him. Severus sent Dumbledore a discreet glance. The headmaster had informed the students (and staff) that Harry had not used Dark Magic, but clearly had not been convincing enough. Dumbledore was now observing Potter with an expression of pride (hidden to most, but quite plain to Severus) that made Severus' stomach turn.

Idiot boy throws himself in front of a Killing Curse and suddenly he's the second coming of Merlin. Even more so than before.

The boy walked up to Severus, who was positioned in a way as to make this ordeal (or peak experience, for Severus at least) easier. Unfortunately (or fortunately), this meant Potter would also be clearly visible to the entire school, which was now watching with bated breath. _I must not smile. I must not give away any sign of satisfaction with Dumbledore watching. Now that I have no spy position to hide behind, heaven only knows what he might do to me…_ The boy came to a stop before Severus, and got to his knees in a rather impressively graceful motion.

It didn't feel good. In fact, it made Severus' skin crawl, and he had to hide his revulsion rather than his satisfaction. He gripped the edge of the dinner table to ward off the sudden sense of vertigo. What in Merlin;s name was going on? He could clearly remember enjoying this at the beginning the first time round; the feeling of triumph over Potter's son (and hence over Potter). And that had been the kind of Bond that manipulated its participants int closer relationships; this was not.

 _So why am I unable to enjoy this—?_ An image of the lifeless body of Harry Potter in his own arms flashed in front of his eyes. A bitter taste filled his mouth as he held out his hand for Potter to kiss. _And so Potter wins even as he kneels to me like a Death Eater grovelling before the Dark Lord. Which century does this barbaric practise date back to, anyway?_ he thought— rhetorically, since he knew both the century and the exact year. It took him a great deal of effort to maintain his poise, and not snatch his hand back.

Potter's lips felt soft on his hand. It reminded him of innocence and love in ruins. Severus fought back a shudder and sternly told his emotions to get themselves under control. He would take his meals in the dungeons from now on, he thought, dispassionate once again as an angry wave of whispers swept through the Hall.

* * *

Severus stubbornly ignored his pounding headache as he checked and rechecked his notes. He wasn't sure exactly when he'd decided to go through with this, but it hadn't been far from his thoughts ever since he'd returned with a resurrected Potter and a new lease of life.

Severus' lip curled at the odious prospect of owing his life to yet another Potter. For that was what had happened, no matter what spell the boy had seen fit to unleash. A far corner of his mind informed him that he was being irrational and unfair; that Potter had had no choice but to use the spell in his desperation to save Severus' life.

Well. Rationality had not been governing many of his actions, of late. His mind flashed back to the time when he had deliberately baited the Dark Lord into targeting him rather than Potter. _What was I_ thinking _, deliberately provoking him like a brash Gryffindor?_ Severus scoffed and turned his attention back to the various popular theories surrounding the Veil in the Department of Mysteries.

He had shielded the boy from the Dark Lord because he owed it to Lily to protect her son, that was all. And he would swear to his dying day that there was nothing more to it. Certainly no fatherly affection—

His stomach turned as he remembered. The boy had called him 'Dad' as he'd emerged from unconsciousness, or death, whichever the case was. He had effectively destroyed every single pretext of barriers Severus had set up for the world to see; he had announced to the Order that he thought of Severus, in the deepest confines of his jumbled mind, as his _father_! It was a wonder they hadn't locked Severus up at once, accusing him of tampering with the boy's mind.

Someone knocked on his door, and walked in without bothering to wait for Severus' permission. Severus snarled and rose from his table, waving his wand at his work to hide it away. The writing on the parchment and books immediately changed to something a lot more dull. Severus stormed away to find out who dared to enter his quarters without so much as showing the courtesy of—

He stopped as the intruder came into view. Of course. He could have smacked himself; who else but Potter would dare to do such a thing? "Potter," he said through gritted teeth, "what—exactly—do you think you're doing?"

Potter was trying to appear unconcerned, but the tightness on his face and in his posture showed otherwise. "Checking the limits of the Bond, actually. The old one would've punished me by now; this one doesn't."

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for violating a teacher's privacy. Get out, Potter, or the amount doubles within the next minute."

"You can empty the Gryffindor counter for all I care," Potter returned heatedly. "I came to deliver a message from my mother."

Severus nearly lost his footing as the room tilted alarmingly. Potter noticed, and to Severus' chagrin, moved closer with his arms held out as if to catch him if he fell. "What," Severus rasped.

"You heard me," Potter said. "I was dead, you know, for a while. I saw her and my father. They both said hello. And my mother said not to give up like you did with her."

Severus was having difficulty breathing, so he didn't reply.

"Professor," the boy said in what sounded like genuine concern, "I think you should sit down." Then there were hands on him, and they guided him to the sofa; Severus was too weak to fight them off. Both of them were panting as they ended up on the sofa, Potter as well; the Bond must have been draining him to feed Severus strength.

"Do you think it amusing," Severus said, angry that he still sounded breathless, "to taunt me with memories of the dead? You dare—"

"—to deliver a message?" Potter said excessively politely. "Why, yes, Professor. I don't think it would be very respectful of me to ignore my dead mother's message to her childhood friend, no matter how much I hate to be the one who actually gives you the message. And I'm—not—tricking—you! How dare _you_ say such a thing!"

"Mind your tone, Potter!" Severus said, and before he could stop himself, "Remember your place!"

"My place?" Potter shouted, and then went eerily quiet in a passable imitation of Severus himself. "I am not your slave, Professor Snape, not this time, not really. You know this, as well as I do. And I may have told everyone that nothing that happened in the summer was your fault, but they don't really want to believe it. I had a hard time convincing even Hermione and Ron. So you need to tone down your attitude, Snape, or the Ministry will find a reason to drag you to court and then Azkaban again." A glimmer of amusement showed in the boy's hard eyes. Severus was suddenly startled to realise that the boy before him seemed years older than the boy who had forced his way into his mind in the beginning of summer. "They're all against me now, but seeing me kneel to you already caused a lot of ripples. _And_ there's already plenty of hatred for you. I saw some of the Slytheins glaring at you." He sighed, and then spoke less angrily. "I said what I meant before, sir. I don't want to fight. I wanted to offer to stay down here if you need to keep up appearances that you're not mistreating me and that we can get along together."

Severus nearly stared at the boy who confounded him at every turn. After all that had happened, was he still going on about helping Severus? _Well, after this week, you won't even be thinking about anything of the sort,_ Severus thought, and was surprised by the pang it caused. It made him say stiffly, "Thank you for the offer, Potter, but I believe I can manage."

Potter looked crestfallen. Was he really that desperate for Severus' own company? That was alarming indeed. Severus thought thankfully of the notes on his worktable. This farce would come to an end very soon; and he would no longer be indebted to Harry Potter. Two excellent reasons to continue with his ridiculous plan.

"Do you…" Potter hesitated, "want to see my memories of her, when I was…you know?"

 _Dead_? Severus' stomach lurched at the thought. "Indeed not."

"Oh," was the reply. "Well, that's an open offer too. I'll go back now." He stood, but Severus was quicker.

"Not so fast," he said, pulling the boy down and slipping his fingers under his conveniently loose collar to get at the brand. Potter shivered helplessly when he touched the magically sensitised area, losing the façade of a grown man for a split second.

"W-what are you doing?" Dear Merlin, the boy was trying the puppy dog eyes on him.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to order you to stay clear of my quarters unless I explicitly ask yo to come down here." The brand shone brightly golden, and Potter gave another involuntary shiver as the Bond forced him to acknowledge the order. He looked relived but angry when Severus removed his hand. "On a more pleasant note, Potter, I intend that we stay clear of each other at all times except in Potions class, to spare you the humiliation each time you see me in public."

Potter's surprise at that concession was definitely insulting, Severus thought. "I don't mind it, Professor," he said, too earnestly to be anything but sincere, "But as long as it keeps people form turning on you, yeah, I'll stay out of your way."

Severus had to fight not to stare, once again.

"Professor? You've still got your hand on my brand."

"Mm, yes. I noticed that you weren't eating in the Great Hall. You will kindly refrain from such carelessness, as I am drawing strength from you and the strain on your body is not to be taken lightly. You will look after your health. Am I understood, or do I have to recruit your overprotective friends to babysit you?"

The boy first glared and then looked confused, probably at the mixed signals he was getting. "Yes, sir." He shivered violently again, and blushed a deep red.

Good, Severus thought. It would have been much more difficult to get the boy's friends to cooperate. He thought of the way the trio had reacted when Severus had entered his classroom. Potter had been remarkably—disturbingly—well behaved throughout the class, but the boy's friends had glared at him as though he were Voldemort himself. It had been almost more distracting than his Slytherins' cold stares. Telling himself it was not concern he was showing but a desire to control the Potter, he finally let him go.

 _Although_ , he thought as Potter left, _Draco Malfoy did not join his housemates. Some promise there, perhaps?_

"Severus," said a voice from his fireplace, "may I come through?"

"If you must," Severus said with a sigh. He thought he heard Dumbledore chuckle as he stepped into the room.

"I see Harry was here," Dumbledore said. Did he think he was being subtle?

"Yes, he was, Dumbledore, and no, we did not fall into each other's arms and declare eternal love for the other. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to get back to, as you very well know." He wouldn't normally dare to be so bold with the headmaster, but the events of the day (and week, and month, and year) were beginning to wear on him.

Dumbledore didn't look the slightest bit put off. "I had hoped that seeing the extent of Harry's regard for you might have changed your mind, Severus."

Severus gritted his teeth. He'd known this conversation was coming, but that didn't make it any easier. "I am making a huge sacrifice just to make him—" he almost choked on the word, " _happy_. Is that not enough?"

"It is wonderful indeed, my boy," Dumbledore said gently. "But whether or not that is enough…Severus, he needs _you_. You may not feel as you did during the summer, but can you not remember? What you learn about him? Do you not have memories of your time with him; memories of looking into his mind and seeing only love and affection for you, Severus?"

Severus held up a hand and was horrified to see that it was trembling. "Dumbledore, please," he whispered. _I hate him. I still hate Potter, and that will never change, no matter how many memories I have._ "Yes, those memories torment me—"

"Torment, Severus?" said Dumbledore. "I've seen your face as you look at Harry and remember, and it is not torment you feel."

"Stop!" Severus cried. "Whatever memories I have are tainted by the first Bond, and what I believed to be true at the time _cannot be trusted, Dumbledore_!" Please, can't you see that?

"Do you really think so, Severus? I think rather that your experiences of Harry _before_ the Bond were tainted by your preconceptions. The Bond did not blind you; it opened your eyes."

Severus set his jaw and refused to speak. After a while, Dumbledore sighed.

"Well, one can but try," he said sorrowfully. "Good night, Severus."

Severus had reached the door when Dumbledore spoke again. "He still loves you, Severus, whether he knows it or not. I dearly hope you open your eyes enough to just see that."

A shiver went through Severus when he had shut the door behind him. He strode away from the Headmaster's office, fists clenched as the Headmaster's last words rang in his ears. _I think I see just fine, Dumbledore; and I will do my best to fix this, worry not._

He had work to do before he met the werewolf.

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 **A/N: So tell me what you thought of the story as a whole, as well as just this chapter. While we wait for me to finish the sequel (it's much shorter than this, I've got it all planned out, there's just the actual writing bit left), any ideas for one-shots related to this story? Any direction you wanted this story to go and didn't get to see? Send me your suggestions, and I'll do my best!**

 **Here's the summary for the sequel (which, like this chapter, will be called 'What Binds Us Together'):**

 _Sequel to The Master's Touch. Moved by a desperation he cannot understand, Snape brings Sirius back to life for Harry's sake, though both Snape and Harry believe reconciliation will never be possible between them now. Harry is a pariah in the Wizarding World and a slave…Again. Will Sirius get over his personal scruples to help bring them together? Are they even willing to try again? No slash, Severitus (by adoption) at the end of the tunnel—finally!_

 **What do you think? I'll be putting up a sort of a teaser, too :)**


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